....And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

Ok, well I'm not practicing my Christmas carols yet, nor have I slaughtered any turtle doves, but I did cook some French Hens! To be honest they were Tyson's brand Cornish Hens, but that's pretty much the same, right? I'm getting into the Holiday spirit a little bit early this year because Greg and I are going to Florida for Christmas to see his family. I have never been away from home for Christmas, so I'm becoming a tad sad and a bit out-of-sorts with the thought of not hanging lights outside, or throwing a holiday party, or even putting up a tree!

Being in the holiday spirit, I decided to take on a little project, which of course for me ended up as an ordeal because, well...it's me.

The Birds.

I made some rice and stuffed the hens. It is an odd thing - to stuff a bird, if you haven't done it before..

I scattered the rest of the rice in the pan so it would soak up some of the flavor. Then I drizzled olive oil on the hens and seasoned them with salt and pepper. I took them out once to check the doneness and drizzled some more olive oil. It gave them a nice crispy skin.

 Here's the finished product! Nice and golden brown

 I steamed up some fresh green beans on the side, but I put 3 cloves of smashed garlic in when I steamed them. The flavor was just enough. It was really good.

It was somewhat awkward to have the whole Cornish Hen on the plate at the dinner table, especially since they were still stuffed. When I had to stick my fork in to get out the rice, I almost felt like I needed a little privacy curtain. Then, eating it was no less strange. I really had to dismember the thing at the table to get any meat. It was messy, sort of like eating lobster at the table. You need a bib, special tools, and a discard bowl for the non-edible stuff. I guess that's why people eat just the lobster tails (although the claws are my favorite part). It's a lot less messy. I had a heck of a time tugging and ripping (because that's what I did) the breast meat off. By the time I was done with that, I was too grossed out to even eat any of it. I saved it for left overs, which I enjoyed two days later when the trauma of the event wore off.

 They do make  pretty picture though.

So besides the indecency of picking rice out of the cavity of a stuffed bird, or breaking wings and legs off of the poor little carcass, I also didn't think about the fact that a whole hen per person would be a bit too much to eat. I felt guilty wasting so much and didn't want the bird's death to be in vain, so while Greg studied at the table, I sat across from him picking at every last morsel to save for the dogs as training treats. After fanatically picking, deeply lost in my thoughts, I looked up and saw Greg looking at me, almost green. Only then did I realize the intensity with which I was absorbed picking the bones of the poor little thing. I'll admit, it was straight up nasty. I was up to my wrists in oil and grossness. I'll spare you the rest of the details, but lets just say, I don't think Greg will ever look at me the same way again.