A Chicken Woody
This is America. We like things big. We have big cars. We have big open plains. We’ve got big ideas. We’ve got big pumpkins. Seriously, have you seen the monster that’s parked in front of Empire Wine & Spirits? It’s huuuge.
What ever happened to small?
I made the case a million years ago that cocktails should be small. I’ve been begging for smaller portions since the beginning of the blog. Actually, the small portions are one of the reasons I love Peck’s Arcade so much. At some point, I most likely wrote about smaller chicken wings being preferable to the giant ones being served these days.
When I see jumbo sized wings, it makes me think about how big that chicken must have been. But we’re making bigger chickens too. Not only that, we’re growing them faster than they’ve ever been grown before. Why? Because we’re Americans.
What could possibly go wrong?
Would you believe, woody chicken? It sounds like something I’m making up. I know. And frankly, I don’t even know what’s true anymore and what’s madness. Do we believe the Wall Street Journal these days? I’m less sure now that they are making infographic videos, but let’s watch this short one anyway.
For what it’s worth, I tried to embed the video, but totally failed. So I’m counting on you to click on the above link. In just over one minute it demonstrates the phenomenon and provides an illustration about what woody chicken looks like. Mostly, it’s an amusing name to describe breasts with especially fibrous muscle tissue.
Right. So woody chicken doesn’t pose a health threat to you, it’s just not nice to eat. Generally they are sold at a discount and get ground up and turned into nuggets. But if you believe Bloomberg, this unexpected phenomenon is producing another unexpected result.
Restaurants are asking for smaller chickens. Huzzah! Let’s hear it for small miracles.
There may be a metaphor for some larger idea lurking in all of this, but I’m too tired to find it. And anyhow, I’ve got to go off to yoga. If I don’t my back might seize up and you don’t want to read weeks worth of me whining about my back. Believe me.