Nikki Fierce:  Left to Right:  Evangeline, Emily, and Claire

The other day, Righteous Teenage Daughter, aka. RTD, aka.Evangeline made the announcement that she is only eating “organic meat” and if Freddy and I were going to eat something else, not to worry, she will fend for herself.  Meaning she is not going to go out with a slingshot and hunt down a squirrel, she will open up a box of mac and cheese and dine el solo while we eat from the conveyor belt animals.  To prove her point, she made us watch an excerpt from the documentary film, Baraka, the chicken sequence which is not grotesque in gore but a little disturbing in concept, and I urge to click on the except and watch it.  It does inspire you to want to eat a happy farm chicken but it also makes you question conformity in general.  Which is what I think is so great about RTD (I know every parent says this about their child) but she doesn’t listen to Justin Bieber and she introduces me to really new cool bands so I don’t end up stuck listening to my old morose 80s British bands mixed with 90s Lollapalooza relics.  So RTD amd a couple of her like minded friends formed a band and called themselves Nikki Fierce and here is their first original song called “Muted.”  Very trippy sounding!

So anyway, I can’t let my future rockstar meal ticket eat boxed mac and cheese so I have earnestly joined her crusade for “organic” meat.  Which means happy meat.  How do you know they are happy?  Because they cost twice as much per kilo.  I trekked over to the west side and bought a chicken at The Healthy Butcher.  I have to say, I loved the place, and as much as I enjoy a shopping cart stroll through a Loblaws, I am probably more a small shop shopper.  I also have a bit of a butcher fetish, as a child I used to run over to the section of Dominion where they had what I considered to be an art installation of a cow and its sectioned off parts in different colours:

And the Dominion butcher wore a white apron and carried a big knife.  Even as a four-year old, I thought he was God, he knew what he was doing.  They still wear the same thing and carry the same tool and yet there are deluded urban men running around town in Prada zoot suits thinking they are the meat packers but you know they’ve got nothing on the Butcher Man.  Anyway, I ended up buying a $17 “organic” chicken.  And this chicken had a different look from the regular grocery store, air child bird.  He wasn’t tightly sealed in plastic on a styrofoam tray, he came all splayed out, as though he had just finished playing a game of soccer and was laying on the couch watching tv.  He was a muscular beast, with thighs like Ronaldo, he probably pranced in the meadow like some cocky show pony. Obviously he got all the chicks.  And he tasted happy, for sure.  Here is my recipe for Chicken Ronaldo:

Take the chicken:  Stick a pierced lemon in the cavity. cut 4 Yukon gold potatoes and place in Creuset style pan with drizzle of olive oil and place the bird on top (potatoes will go mushy and crispy on the edges), sprinkle up some kosher salt, pepper, and garlic slices, drizzle with more olive oil, BAKE at 350 in covered pan for 90 minutes, then take cover off for another 30 minutes so bird get golden, stir potatoes around so they get some action.  And when done, let chicken recuperate for  10 minutes or so on a separate plate and then stir potatoes around the roasting pan…they should be kind of mushy at this point, as Ronaldo has been crushing them and soaking them with his juices in the oven.  Then serve it up.  I’ve had guests eat his then actually want to help me to the dishes to they can feed off the pan remnants and pick the the bones.  Free range, that’s what I say.