Play With Your Food

The last time I woke up to a rooster was in Mexico, 2006. I remember being super elated. "How cool?! I just woke up to a rooster, just like in the movies." In Haiti, not so much. One morning I woke up and thought, "If you don't shut up I'll snap your neck and have you for dinner." I didn't think I would actually make good on that promise.

In the "kitchen" (a back open air room with charcoal bbqs) they kept said rooster tied to a piece of wood. I named him Puck because it rhymes with cluck. On Saturday I walked into the kitchen and saw six roosters. I knew what the deal was. I told them I needed to be involved in this process so that I could write this story and make good on an empty promise.

If you've never had the privilege of meeting your dinner, I recommend it. If you've never chased it around and tortured it, you'll never appreciate it. Either that or you'll become a vegetarian. One of the natives put down the first two and I wanted in on the third. I held down his neck and she slit his throat, put him in a pot and listened to it squirm; so rewarding. I told this story to my brothers and they said I sounded like a syco killer. It was because of the sheer joy that was coming out of my voice. I feel like I've earned some serious "street cred." Don't mess with me Mr. Gangster Thug cuz I can kill my own dinner. What!

The next day I killed all three with no help.