Hen Roasting Mafia Style

Last month, I promised my oldest step-daughter, the fabulous Mae West, that I’d teach her how to roast a hen. I sent pictures and simple instructions via text messaging of a mafia-style roasting--I had butterflied the hen. See below:

First, talk to the chicken.

Then, show it who's boss.

Finally, let it know you mean business.

This Monday, Mae indicated that, humor aside, she wanted specifics. We spoke on the phone, discussing what pan to use, temperature, time, and seasoning options. Moments later, she called back. Apparently, her chicken had “butt wing flaps” and she wanted to know what to do about it. I asked if “butt wing flaps” was what I really heard her say. I suppose this term explains what I have going on in my own caboose department as I near middle age. I considered this briefly. “Just leave the hen’s butt alone. It’s fine like that.” I hoped by some means of transference that my bum is, too.

“Don’t forget to reach in the cavity and pull out the bag of gizzards and such,” I added. But our famously bold Mae apparently was not so fearless as to allow her hand to trespass the butt of a chicken.

“Oh, no!” she stated firmly, “I held up the chicken and shook it all out.” Sounds like the Mafia retained its influence after all. Either that, or due to the fact that having birthed two children and cleaned up mass amounts of inherently “gross stuff” since, my casual approach to sticking a hand up a hen’s ass qualifies me as a certain kind of brave in her world. Later that evening, Mae celebrated her triumph with a beautifully browned and glistening hen, butt flaps and all.

Tonight, having confidently cleaned and prepped my own hen, which roasted contentedly in the oven as I wrote the bulk of this post, the lovely Mae sent me a text about how hard she shook the hen. She wrote,”…I shook it like a bully shakes lunch money out of a child’s pockets…” Laughing hysterically, I stopped my writing and called her. You know what she said? “I took your advice. I was showing it who’s boss.”

And some people say their kids don’t listen….

She began to blog, by the way, at Anchors and Orchids. While her first post is pensive and sentimental, I am sure the sauce pot we all know and love ultimately will make her keen sass and wit felt as well. I look forward to every delicious morsel she offers.

Peel Her a Grape

Yesterday, tired from studying, I took a break to exchange an extraordinary amount of gossip with my oldest step-daughter. Between chortles and guffaws, I realized how much I miss her. She has a powerful presence in the best way. I often joke that she is the Mae West of our household—voluptuous, saucy, quick with words, and unforgettable. She is direct and her intentions unmistakable. One of the funniest people I know, she has a wonderful sing-song voice when she humorously hints at a situation. For example, if she suspects tension in a room, she voices with a rise and fall of melody in soprano, “Uncomfortable!”


Mae does not seek high spirited adventure, but it finds her, such as this summer when we went swimming in the river. She and her sister begged me to swim out in the currents with them, but I chose to sunbathe on the rocks instead. (I grew up on the Mississippi River; I know better.) As I watched the girls plunge toward a large boulder in the river, a strong current picked up my husband’s firstborn and hurled her downstream over a small waterfall. Horrified, I ran along the riverbank calling her name. When her head finally appeared from the dark waters, she was laughing at herself, but still caught in a dangerous pull of water. A young man swam to her and guided her to sure footing and a place to rest. Frankly, I don’t know which of those two, the young man or our Mae, was more delighted for that particular opportunity.

The holidays are coming, and I will have the divine pleasure of wise cracking and carrying on with the queen of slick nice-nasty, as she calls her rather underhanded sarcasm. She has already promised to coach my fashion choices in a shopping expedition and, like her sister, is keenly anticipating decorating the Christmas tree. Having both Mae and her sister in my life has begun to change me. They bring out some of my best qualities and take the edge off the head-banging frustration of dealing with frequent and drastic change. This past summer was a period of sheer elation and joy that has helped restore the spirit of this household. For these wonderful girls, I will always be thankful. I think I can agree with a quote by the true Mae West, whose wit and sex appeal flashed across the silver screen so long ago: “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.”

Note: I came across this website of Mae West quotes. Laughed till I cried over some of them. Click here and amuse yourself. http://thinkexist.com/quotes/mae_west/