A roast chicken dinner has got to be one of my favourite meals especially on a cold, soggy weekend. While I love to eat the clucky, feathery, idiots (the chickens I have met have been rather foolish if adorable birds), I also want them to be happy chickens up to the point that they squawk. So this means free-range, truly free-range means outdoor space to roam not just a slightly larger cage space (and even then you have to be careful as definitions of free-range can be rather stretched, meaning what is labelled as free-range isn’t necessarily the green field image it conveys … investigating and finding a good brand is worthwhile). As we all know, free-range birds tend to be a little bit pricier in the supermarkets than their unhappy factory squashed counterparts. So in order to spring for the pricier, happy chickens without making me squawk at the checkout till, I need to make the bird stretch for more than just a meal for two and maybe some sandwiches the next day.
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| My parent's chickens in England lead a very good life, though they are strictly not for eating ... unless that blasted Mr Fox gets lucky again! |
