Don't Play With Your Food!

I'm not sure about the year, but I believe it was the Summer of 2003 when I had spent a weekend at my family's private beach resort in the Philippines. We had an awesome beach house which was composed of 2 large cabins joined together. Anyway, the sand was white and the water was clear blue, unlike the polluted sewage water of the beaches here in the States. We, my family over there, made up of several aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins, (the usual) and I, basically had the whole beach to ourselves as we occupied both of the cabins. Except for, of course, the numerous crabs, and rabid homeless dogs wandering around in search of food. My family, in the Philippines, like to call ourselves "DK,' which stands for "Dakug Kaon," which literally translates to"Big Eating" or in this case "Big Eaters" haha. So it was normal for the hungry animals to venture in our area hunting for scraps. We did what we could and shared what we had with the ravenous creatures. Our area, was the place to be! We had a flawless setting. Beautiful beach, perfect weather, comfortable housing, and of course, AMAZING food. Nothing could damper this ideal vacation weekend. It was pure R & R. The perfect location... for a murder.

While at this beach resort we had made ourselves feel completely at home. We had the usual essentials for a trip, including plenty of snacks, food, and drinks. We had brought our own set of pots and pans, dishware, and utensils. We even brought some chickens. My family has a farm in the Philippines as well. I'm assuming that's where we brought them from. The beach was so peaceful... Except for those damn chickens. You can hear them all day long. The only time they were a bit calmer was when my younger cousins would go and play with them. I remember walking towards the chickens (which were leashed, haha) trying to play with them and one jumped forward almost attacking me. Ok, it just almost touched me, and I freaked out. From then on I kept my distance, watching my cousins touch the feathered mutants as if they were stuffed animals. They were repulsive up close. The chickens, not my cousins haha. Actually good looks run in the family, if I do say so myself. =) haha. Anyway, not only were those boisterous chickens annoying, they were pretty dumb. In the morning, they would crow at different hours, obviously unaware of the times.

The following morning, the usual routine, I woke up, and jumped on my cousins to get up to go swimming. Yet something on the island seemed different, but I couldn't put my finger on what had changed. It seemed... quieter. Lunch time had arrived. Thankfully. I was famished after the morning's swim. I had grabbed my plate, flooded it with rice, the good stuff, and since as usual I was first at the table, I had removed the lid of the first pot to find MY FAVORITE! CHICKEN ADOBO!.....................OMG! I held the pot lid in my hand and stared back down into the pot. There, my feathered acquaintances lie in the midst of brown sauce goodness. I SCREAMED! Threw the lid of the pot on the table, and ran away. Everyone approached me asking what was wrong and I screamed, pointing to the area where the chickens once played and back to our luncheon where they laid to rest, " The chickens are in the pot!" A moment of silence, and bursts of laughter came from all around. "Americana," they said. -_- Needless to say, all I ate that day for lunch was rice.

I am NOT some crazy animal lover that turns vegetarian in order to support the animals. BUT there was just something wrong in the idea that I had played with those chickens before they became my lunch. Apparently, my younger cousin who had spent most of his time playing with the chickens aided in the slaying. Go figure. I can't see the food alive before I eat it, let alone befriend it! Call me "American" if you wish, but I was always taught NOT to play with my food.


Carnivourously yet finickly yours,


KnowlesTM