Dr. R: Poultry Examiner

WARNING: Some material may not be suitable for weak stomachs.  Reader discretion is advised.

I've never actually watched the show Dr. G: Medical Examiner, but recently I had reason to suspect that my "job description" as Chef Mommy and that of a forensics expert (a.k.a. a coroner) might just have some similar bullet points.  Pardon the pun.

For the second time this week, I stuck my hand up the back end of a piece of poultry.  And, well, let's just say it wasn't pleasant for either of us.  Although he/she was dead.  So, I guess I'm the only one who was having issues.

First, it was a chicken.  More recently, a duck... duck... duck... duck... duck... duck... DUCK!  [What? Where? Who am I?  Oh, whew... for a second there I got sucked into the vortex of yet another nursery rhyme].  Ok, I'm back...

Let's see... how many gizzards, giblets and/or "parts" did I pull out?  Well... there was definitely a set of kidneys, an identifiable heart, a liver and the ever-unmistakable NECK.  Yep!  All that was missing was... umm... some other stuff.  I don't know.  I'm not really a medical examiner!

So, I had done what had to be done, talking myself through this gloveless "examination" the entire time...

[enter inquisitive five-year-old child]

"What is that?" he asked.
"A duck." I answered.
"Oh, I don't want to eat a duck!"
"But, ducks are so tasty!" (I said in my most convincing Mommy Knows Best voice)

And so it was, at that point, that I began a lengthy convincing argument to persuade my five-year-old that he would be missing out on one of life's greater culinary pleasures if he refused to join the rest of his family members in eating a dead, lifeless animal that is spelled like and sounds just like the cute little character on his favorite show Word World.  Hmm.  Where to start?

Unbeknownst to him, I had actually needed another staff member to assist me psychologically with this particular "patient."  So, I was thankful to have him alongside me.  And, as I began my lengthy response to his protest,  I reasoned with myself at the same time (so I wouldn't lose my lunch while I was prodding and stuffing and pricking and lifting and tucking and eventually roasting this cold, raw, limp, rotund form of a duck.

I began by telling him that God gave us dominion over ducks... er, that He made ducks and other animals for us to eat.  I added that God created plants and animals (including ducks) first so that humans would have food ready and waiting when we were created.  I thought about telling him how God provides us with lovely sprigs of sage, which produce a delectable collage of flavors when placed inside the cavity of almost any piece of poultry out there.  But, he was actually more interested in touching the duck.

So, my little assistant poked the duck in the chest a couple of times, washed his hands with soap and water and went on his merry way.  By that time, I had seasoned and dressed the duck, which now looked like something more presentable, more appealing, indeed more edible.  I had made it through my forensics test.  Though, I had no clue as to why the poor little 6 lb. duck had to take one for the team.  Yet, I did read on the package that he/she was treated fairly.  Surely, they gave him/her a gun or a pair of boxing gloves or somesuch self-defense mechanism.  Mano a mano... toe to toe... in the end, the duck lost.  And, pardon me for saying so, but his goose WAS eventually cooked!