Forced Weight Loss
by Esther
Yes, you read the title right. Terrible thought, isn’t it? But alas, sadly it is oh too true. It was the farmer’s fault, we have concluded, and yet there remain a few suspects on the list.
In this age, we see everywhere—on TV, in newspapers, magazines, everywhere—that thin is “in,” and sadly this farmer went too far. We think that the farmer who raised these chickens thought that the poor things were too fat and decided to feed them less. In some interesting way, the details of which we are still not fully aware, one of these poor, helpless, underweight chickens ended up on our dinner table last night. It was deliciously tender and juicy, grilled to perfection (thanks to my sister Hannah).
We were all sitting around the dinner table, all eight of us, when suddenly we realized something, something that made our stomachs feel strangely empty. The chicken was gone! Not a trace was left on the serving plate, only some juice. We sat there momentarily dazed, trying to come to grips with the reality of the situation. It was gone.
Then it hit us like a brick. No! How could it be gone? It was one of those meals that is so good that you want to take a picture of it, because you know that you likely will never see it again. Pouring the last of the juice onto my rice, I savored the taste that I knew would soon be just a memory. All who had even a little of the longed-for chicken left on their plates were asked about five times if they were sure they wanted it.
We consoled Hannah with the fact that it was not her fault that the chicken was scrawny, underweight, and deprived. It was the farmer’s fault, wasn’t it? That may be true, but if Mother knew how small it was, hardly feeding four people, then why did she buy it? Ah ha! She thinks we’re fat and, and… Oh, no. Our own mother.
Why do I see a scary pattern here? Our suspicions were more firmly set when we saw the carcass of the chicken in a pot on the stove with a little meat left on it. Why had she not told us about it? Why had she made us fill the great void in our stomachs with rice and vegetables”
She says that she meant to go to the store and buy more chicken, but didn’t get a chance. Sigh. What is the world coming to? And she says that she forgot about the chicken on the stove, though I do not know how such a tasty thing could have been. The memory of the scrawny chicken will not be forgotten by us for quite some time.
Some of you may doubt the truth of my narrative, and yet, though at some points I may have wandered ever so slightly, it was just another day at our house.
Where’s the Chicken?
by Estelle
Have you ever dreamed of plump chicken, rice with gravy, and steamed vegetables? Last night Hannah cooked all that, but still something was missing. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it; then suddenly, it hit me. Where is the rest of the chicken? I looked around at everyone’s plate. Dad’s plate had a bone, a large pile of rice, and vegetables. My brother’s plate was licked clean of chicken. The chicken was truly delicious, or the little bit of it that there was. You may ask where the chicken went; it went into our stomachs
“I think it was the farmer’s fault that it was so small,” Esther said.
Dad said, “There was hardly enough to pray over!”
“It reminds me of the loaves and fishes,” Mom said. “Perhaps we should pray for it to be multiplied.”
“Yum! More chicken, please!” the boys said.
Mom’s reply was, “We’re out of chicken, but we have some more soft, plump, delicious rice with scrumptious gravy and beautifully colored steamed vegetables—green, orange, white, and yellow.”
The Cook’s Point of View
by Hannah
The chicken—plump, luscious, tender and grilled to perfection (so they said). Yes, I was the unfortunate cook of the scrawny, underweight chicken. Oh, and in case you are wondering, “plump” is not the word to use.
However, I did cook plenty of rice and vegetables, but unfortunately this did not make up for the skimpy chicken. Some people may call me a suspect, but in reality I am not! (Also, the chicken was a little bit burnt.)
They all tried to console me by saying, “It was the farmer’s fault,” but that did not help much. Every cook has to be just a little bit disappointed to find out she didn’t cook enough of the “favorite food.” In my case it was the chicken
So the point I am trying to tell you is this: From a cook’s point of view, the incident was not that funny!
