Chicken Tinola

Fathers’ Day 2006: the whole family hoped chicken outside the house had a good night. It rained hard and we had to cover them with an umbrella so they wouldn’t get cold and wet. At least not so much. A nephew gave us two hens he raised in the farm, so being guaranteed native chickens, they are truly special. And they have a destiny to fulfill.

When I was still small, my Grandmother Elisa (who by the way is going strong at the ripe old age of 91 on March 23 this year) used to worry about me: I don’t know how to kill chicken. Well, it was in the 1970s and she could not imagine that someday someone will think of selling dressed chicken. The extent of my participation in chicken murder is holding the poor creature’s wings and legs.
That was nearly a century ago. Fast-forward June 18, 2006. Ioan’s birthday is coming up, and the chicken would have been welcome contributors to the celebration, but then so many things can happen: they might escape, get sick, or whatever. Anyway, the die is cast. Daddy Taz will have his Father’s Day celebration.

Daddy Taz neatly sliced off the airpipes (at least I think that’s what the English translation is), drained off the blood, then dunked the newly-dead chicken in cold water.
Mummy Taz: Hey! You’re supposed to dunk them in the hot water we prepared so the feathers would come off easily!
Daddy Taz: Oh? Sorry…by the way, do you know how to slice them?
Mummy Taz: Guess so. They’re kind of like slicing dressed chicken.

When both chicken were (un)dressed, Mummy Taz neatly cut off the wings and legs, the carefully cut through the ribcage.
Mummy Taz: WHoops! Forgot about the innards! Daddy Taz! You know how to deal with the innards?
Daddy Taz: Nope.

Fortunately Daddy Taz’s sister knew how: detach the windpipe from the head then pull out with the innards from the stomach cavity. She mercifully cleaned the batikulon of yucky things, and instructed Mummy Taz how to cook the Tinola: lightly saute chicken parts with garlic, onions and a handful of tomatoes, boil for an hour or so (the longer the better) then stir in sliced raw papaya for about five minutes. Stir in pepper leaves just before removing from fire.
Finally got through cooking in time for a rather late lunch. The reviews were good, by the way.

Now Grandmother Elisa will have nothing to worry about. I won’t starve, after all.