It is odd to think how grateful a person can be for chickens. Today we went to see a play with the parent’s adopted grandkids. Since the spouse hadn’t had breakfast, or lunch, we decided to go grab a snack since we were forty minutes early. We walked into one bar just around the corner from the theatre, but the spouse didn’t like the vibe. We walked farther down the street and found a brewery which looked as if it had potential.
The spouse was hoping for a sandwich, but the only one on the menu was a burger. He loves a good burger, but I was worried we wouldn’t have time. (Which turned out to be a good worry, by the way.) So, we ordered two cups of smoked salmon chowder and a plate of smoked trout deviled eggs to share. We ended up trying two different brews before settling on sharing a red he ordered and didn’t like, and an apricot and some kind of hot pepper something or another which wasn’t too spicy for me to handle. The brew deciding took about ten minutes, and we still hadn’t gotten our chowder. I finally asked and let the server know we had a show to which we had to get!
She brought the chowder about five minutes later, and it was so tasty. I’m pretty sure they weren’t making a fresh batch, so I’m not sure why it took over fifteen minutes to get two cups, but the creamy rich smokey taste was highly satisfying on a cold afternoon. The deviled eggs took another five minutes to find their way to the table. It’s been a long time since I have seen yokes from chickens who aren’t ours. These yokes were basically white. No color, and no flavor either. Despite the fact there was a sprig of dill on top and a small hint of some smokey fish in one of the egg halves I bit, there was literally no real flavor in the eggs themselves. The whole thing needed salt or mustard or something with a kick to help out those poor little pale eggs. (By the way, when one orders an order of deviled eggs, is it odd to have the plate come out with five halves of eggs? Did a chicken have an issue with laying a whole egg? Did one half jump onto a salad on the way to our plate? Is that just how the order comes?)
Our chickens start their mornings on the hunt for fresh bugs. They roam at least five of our ten acres and tend to follow me down the hill in the AM to make sure they get their special seeds. (Sunflower, of course.) If they don’t get enough seeds, or if we don’t notice them soon enough, Jesse is bold enough to come up the the door of the downstairs house to peep in and make sure we’re coming. Apparently all of this wandering about and eating bugs and seeds and who knows what else makes for eggs with actual flavor and color. The yokes are a rich yellow/orange, and, even without salt, the eggs have an egg-like taste that one thinks would normally come with something called an egg.
So, all of this is a fairly long winded way to say that I am darn glad that we have chickens who lay eggs. Oh, the spouse insists upon heat lamps for the spoiled specimens, hence the red light in the image.
I’m just someone trying to figure out how to juggle ten acres, work, a mama with stage four cancer, and a whole lot of grumpy. This blog started out as “Grumpy Gal’s Guide to Gratitude,” but since all I really keep typing about is the garden, I figured I might as well own it! So, thanks for joining me as I try and figure out how the heck to kick myself in the booty and get on with life.