I made Rock Cornish Game Hens for dinner last night. I hardly ever make them and then when I do I can never remember why I ever eat anything else. I loved them when I was a kid; my kids loved them when they were young and I still love them. Terribly enough, though, I think that one of the major parts of the whole appeal of the Hen is the barbarity of the eating experience. It's not just food; it's like your own little medieval dinner theatre. You get this whole miniature chicken-like bird on a plate and then you have to break it up and suck the bones and get all greasy and, let's face it, really down with that bird. Or at least I do - there may well be people out there who can eat a Rock Cornish Game Hen neatly and fastidiously but I am not, alas, one of them. For kids, it's savagely fascinating: the tininess of it all, the wee drumstick, the breaking the whole hen apart and sucking on the minuscule bones and then, of course, the sheer joy of a whole little teeny chicken, all to yourself. Also, they taste amazing; there is that. Yes, this sort of orgiastic carnivorousness is out of fashion but, well, fuck it, at least it's not an ortolan.
In other news, I have the blues. The funk, the pre-spring gloom, the end of winter blahs, the something or other that is making me just want to sleep 24 hours a day. Retail therapy isn't working; rafts of mediocre fantasy novels aren't working and, gasp of horror, drinking too much beer with my girlfriends doesn't even seem to be working although, honestly, it works just fine while it's actually going on; it's the next day that's problematic. So I am taking fish oil again and hoping for the best and, in the meantime, seriously contemplating just going to bed for the weekend. This time of year has historically been tough on me; most people get all bummed out in the depths of winter but I can handle that fine (it reinforces my naturally bleak outlook and besides, I can wrap myself up in blankets next to the fire. Also, I love wearing bulky giant warm clothes that hide a multitude of figure flaws.) It's this tease of spring that gets to me: warm one minute, cold the next and meanwhile everything and everyone is running around getting things ready for summer, the birds are singing, plants are budding and there's mad activity - but not mine, somehow. Bah. Wake me up when it's really warm outside.
Also, the title of this post? Would make a really mediocre and annoying band name.