Drumming Up Some Chicken Memories

About author / Sarah Christine Bolton

Coffee addict; professional food writer; food fusion. Her slow cooker recipes go above and beyond your normal crockpot fare.

Chicken has been a very important part of my life from a young age. However, I’m not just talking about cooked chicken. No, I’m talking about the very alive, very annoying, real chickens that were a constant part of the landscape of my childhood family farm.

I’m not sure how my mother had the brilliant idea to start a small chicken farm. I’m sure it was in a moment of weakness, because surely no one in their right mind would even consider raising chickens for fun.

The process goes something like this: You have to buy fertilized eggs, and place them in an incubator. Then, for several days, the eggs have to remain in the warm-lit environment of the incubator. Not only that, but they have to be turned every few hours. After the appropriate number of days (I can’t remember; I think I’ve blocked it from memory), the little chickies inside start to push their way through the shell.

When they are tiny and fuzzy, chickens are adorable. It’s when they grow up, into stupid squawking creatures, is when chickens really become an annoyance.

My brother and I were responsible for locking the chickens into their house every night. This usually included scouring our three acres for hiding chickens, herding them more or less to their house, screaming at chickens, running after chickens, diving to the ground to attempt to catch chickens, chicken “calling,” and various other antics that didn’t always result in all the chickens safe in their house.

We were also responsible for feeding and watering them, and gathering warm eggs from under chicken hips. These things had to be done, even in the middle of a Montana winter, when the snowdrifts might reach five feet and the temperature was -20 F.

Until recently, it had been many years since I had seen a live chicken. Just a few months ago, I was in the U.S. Virgin Islands. On St. Croix, the smallest and least-developed of the three islands, chickens were everywhere. No one else seemed to care, but I certainly showed that I did care. I dodged cars across the tiny streets, struggling with my camera to snap a picture of a rooster and his five hens. I leaned out of our tour van, taking blurry pictures of chickens as we streaked past little country farms. I don’t think one picture I took actually turned out. But maybe it proved that I had somehow come to terms with my arch nemesis: the chicken.

Despite my childhood trauma in regard to chicken, I have somehow managed to still like cooked chicken. Although I am all about buying mine in a plastic-wrapped container at the grocery store.

You can really use any kind of chicken for this recipe. Drumsticks are just my favorite. You almost don’t need an eating utensil for them; you just grab the drumstick and dive in. The stuffing sits right on top of the chicken and get perfectly flavored and soft.

Serves/Makes: 4

• non-stick cooking spray
• 2 tablespoons finely shredded lemon peel
• 1 tablespoon ground sage
• 1 tablespoon seasoned salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 10 small chicken legs (drumstick only), skinned
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 cups sliced fresh button mushrooms
• 2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
• 1 cup chopped carrot
• 1 medium loaf sourdough baguette cut into 1-inch pieces
• 1 cup chicken broth