I never have knowingly eaten kosher meat.
And then I remembered; being sent down to the kosher butchers as a child to buy a boiling fowl for my mother.
How rapidly memories return... Watching her clean a chicken so carefully & thoroughly. Knowing that she’d been made an orphan at an early age I always wondered who had taught her. A box of matches sat by the sink, with which to singe every hair. When I think of the way I clean a chicken, make sure the giblets aren’t inside, wipe its bum and slam it in the oven, it’s not a skill I inherited from mother.
The unformed eggs from the boiling fowl were poached in the soup. The giblets would be added, the liver saved for chopped liver. The heart was given to the cat but the cooks perk according to my mother was the pupik, the belly button. Bet you didn’t know that chickens have belly buttons.
