Joint (verb):
(transitive) To separate the joints; of; to divide at the joint or joints; to disjoint; to cut up into joints, as meat. — Wiktionary
I’d prefer to use disjoint, however “jointing” is the term cooks and chefs use. *shrug*
Now that that’s out of the way…
Today I jointed a chicken. Two actually. It’s something I’ve never done before, and I feel I should know how to do it. I’m not really sure why, but it has something to do with me thinking I need to have certain skills and experiences as a “man”. Examples of other skills and experiences which fit into this category are:
- fixing a flat tyre (check)
- jumpstarting a car (check)
- sharpening a knife (check)
- do small to medium-sized maintenance tasks (check)
- driving a manual car (not sure, I’ve tried once and almost hit a tree)
- driving a tractor (nope)
- rescuing a pretty girl from drowning (nope)
- killing a man (nope)
- etc, etc.
I can happily add to the list:
- jointing a chicken (check!)
I’m not going to lay down the procedure here because you can see Gordon Ramsay and Ian Knauer do it on YouTube, and they’re far more experienced than I am. What I am going to do is post some photos (potentially gruesome imagery warning):
…and feel satisfied with completing the task. Jointing chickens can save you some cash (two whole chooks cost me 28 Rinngit; about 5 bucks per chook), but it comes at the expense of some elbow grease. The benefit also depends on whether you’re going to cook the non-breast parts of the chicken (wings, thighs, drumsticks). I haven’t cooked these too many times before, but I’ll try out some new recipes to make use of these parts. A definite plus: It seems, when laid out on the chopping board, you get more chicken when jointed than when whole. Perception-fail?
All the non-“normal” parts get used in making a stock. It’s a little disconcerting when you’re making stock with heads and feet — but it can be fun. I’m sure it’ll be tasty in the end.
