You want the water to be somewhere between 150-155 degrees.
Too cold and the feathers don’t come off.
Too warm and you split the skin.
The rubber things are indeed called fingers and our plucker is a smaller, stand alone unit that you hold the chicken up against.
Works like a charm.
Having done some by hand, I’ve just gotta say- I loves me my plucker.
Of course, you still have to gut them by hand.
We don’t whack their heads off and let them run around, 'tho.
Way too messy.
We use killing cones-nicer for us and quicker for the chicken.
I was gonna say this too. Even though I may be considerd one of “the younger generation” (nineteen as of yesterday) I have no problem seeing my food die. I fact I find it satisfying to kill my own dinner (venison anybody?). And, no, I don’t live on a farm, and never have.
My mother has chickens. Eight or ten (I forget) in a coop out back. She collects the eggs daily. Fresh eggs: yum.
Anyway, one of the stupid, stinky birds managed to get its head caught in a loose corner of the enclosure, and when it panicked it apparently broke its own neck.
When my mom told me about this, I asked her how it tasted.
She was horrified. In fact, she took me out back and showed me the chicken’s grave.
Let me repeat that.
The chicken’s grave. Little brick headstone and everything.
I’m a city kid for certain, but even I see the birds in my mom’s enclosure as pre-cooked, pre-seasoned, pre-plucked, ambulatory panang. I wouldn’t want to dig the guts out of a chicken’s abdomen with my bare hands, but hatcheting its head and watching it go into the pot, that doesn’t bother me at all.
Next dumb bird strangles itself or whatever, my mother will have a chicken graveyard. I’m cracking up here…
cher3, I’m a grown up and I’ve never seen a wild opposum. Racoons, yes; opossums, no. Of course, I’m on the other coast.
hlanelee, next time she’s out, serve opposum. I’m sure she’d love it! 
The viewing will be just before dinner. 
BTW, WhyNot, considering the story of Mike, the Headless Chicken, I think we can conclude that they do “you know…”
What, might I ask, is the likelihood of getting a chicken fetus in one of these fertilized eggs, instead of just yolk?
I think what freaked her out was when he sauntered over to her, ax still dripping blood, and said, “and for dessert, we’re havin’ ladyfingers . . .”
Eve, you’re a sick, sick person.
Have I mentioned I like that?
I don’t know, and I’ll be durned if I can google anything about the whole issue. But I swear, they’re there, and I read the little happy hippie sign every time I’m at the store before shaking my head in disgust and getting the plain ol’ free-farmed organic eggs for $2 less. (I’m a neohippie girl, but I’m not an idiot. The regulations for free-farming and organic make me happy enough.) I’m pretty sure they’re another egg from Phil’s Farm Fresh Eggs, but his “website” isn’t anything to write home about. No product information at all.
First off, let me say ‘Hi’ as a new guest, this site looks like a great place to kill time at work. 
Regarding the chickens, I’ve helped slaughter my share at my girlfriends farm, and there are a few things I’d like to share. First off, you don’t necissarily <b>have</b> to pluck the feathers, we just pulled the skin off (make a slit on the breast, insert fingers, and pull in opposite directions. Comes off slicker than snot). Now, I know for some people enjoy eating the skin, but it does make it a lot easier on the slaughter-er. Secondly, when you give 'em ‘the chop’, they’re very prone to breaking their wings if you don’t keep a good hold on their feet. We just hold them over a wheelbarrow until they stop moving to catch most of the blood, then put them on the table and start gutting.
Finally, as someone who’s tried both, the chicken (or beef, or pork for that matter) you get at the store can’t even compare to home-grown animals. You haven’t eaten until you have a steak and eggs breakfast that’s been alive just 48 hours earlier.
Well, I can certainly understand never having seen a live opossum, but they are definitely the most popular flavor of road pizza around here.
I work in a pretty populous area, but I still see opossums, raccoons, coyotes, and even rattlesnakes :eek:, on a pretty regular basis.
Why, you sweet-talker, you.
Yeah, that’s how it starts. Then you start staying up late to make sure you don’t miss any responses to your contributions that day. Then you start setting your alarm an hour ahead so you can get an early start on the day’s discussions. Then you stay up all night in order to read the posts from Down Under Dopers in real time. Then you start trying to convincing your friends to join up…
It’s a sickness, friend. Get out now, while you can. 
Thanks for the warning, but I’m having enough trouble keeping up with the conversations on my work’s DSL connection, I can’t imagine trying to view it from home on our dial-up. If I get fired though, I know who to blame.
Very True. Really fresh meat does not taste the same as store-bought meat, and it isn’t slimy like that stuff in the styro packs. People are missing out. And there is nothing better than eating a trout that you caught yourself that day, sauteed in butter and washed down with Pinot Grigio.
I pluck em the hard way since it is usually only one or two, then I singe the small hairs/pin feathers off. Granny did it on the burner of a gas stove (not advisable, unbelievable stink). I use a propane torch in the yard.
country_hacker makes a good point. Animals that have led happy lives just taste better.
D_Odds opposum is too much trouble. You have to parboil the grease out of it before you roast it, else it’s not fit to eat. It’s almost as bad as dog.
:eek:
::runs through the thread with her fingers in her ears:: La la la…not listening!
That’s because all meat comes from the Happy Meat Place. I just know it does! Right??? Right??? Yessss…of course it does!
Mom> Try it. You’ll like it.
Boy> I can’t eat ostrich, Mom! I’m friends with an ostrich on Mr. Brown’s farm.
Mom> Umm, son, Mr. Brown runs an ostrich farm.
Boy> :eek: JIMMY!!!
None of this is true. All meat comes from the Meat Blimp.
singing “Bullies are people who hate themselves…”
(referencing ComCentral’s DRAWN TOGETHER)
[totally out of context]
[/totally out of context]
Heh. This line just tickles me.
heeheeheeheehee