Humor Corner

Posted on July 13, 2010

The task at hand is relatively easy: All I need to do is roll the chicken breasts in flour, dip them into the egg batter, then coat them with bread crumbs.

Two Israeli Arab cooks (one in his twenties and the other in his forties), whom I’m assisting temporarily in the kibbutz’s communal kitchen, are making chicken schnitzel for the entire community. I’m the novice kitchen hand, who has volunteered her services for the day.

I’m here to learn how to cook, being the clueless one in the culinary department. Thanks to one senior Israeli member of the kibbutz who coordinated this “cooking class,” I’ve been given the rare opportunity to watch and learn from experienced cooks, who work in a professional kitchen setup.

After the food preparation demo, I fulfill my duty with utter concentration, not wanting to earn the disapproval of my teachers. With joy and excitement, I pick up one chicken breast from a pile of mallet-beaten chicken breasts, cover it with flour, dip it into the egg batter, and coat it with bread crumbs.

My untrained fingers joyfully execute this procedure many times over — slowly but surely. I make it a point that each chicken breast is well-coated with flour, egg batter, and bread crumbs. I feel like each chicken breast deserves that special “massage.”

Halfway through my chicken-coating task, the senior cook calls my attention. It turns out he has been monitoring my progress long enough to evaluate my kitchen performance. I brace for the worst criticism.

With a smile, he tells me, “You don’t have to caress that chicken breast. It’s not a woman!” (Haifa, Israel/August 1999)

Source: Jolly J!