... I'm suspecting that my whole life has been a lie. Which, I'll tell you, is a rather shocking realization when you've likely passed the halfway point of it.
Neidermyer is supposed to be synonymous with chicken. (Not "chicken" in quotes as if our genealogical tree traces pack to the Cowardly Lion in Oz ... but chicken, as in the delectable foul capable of being cooked in so many different ways).
Thanks to the power of the google, you can search the blog and see how often it is referenced in my writings ... but the highlights are that I may have been conceived in a chicken plant (both my biological father and my biological mother worked together in the poultry processing plant mecca of Fredericksburg PA) ... that said mother allegedly let me chew on chicken bones as a baby in a highchair to keep me quiet ... that my after-school routine in early elementary school included playing around the plant after it had been hosed down at the end of the day (that's a smell one doesn't forget) ... that my one uncle had a Neidermyer's Restaurant in Lancaster County ... and that another one still takes Neidermyer chicken to various farmers' markets in and around central and eastern PA ... (a different uncle went rogue and made Neidermyer's horseradish, apparently as some kind of rebellion ... but I digress).
Basically, where one or more Neidermyers are gathered, it is there where one will undoubtedly find chicken.
So then someone, please tell me how, in the name of all that is holy, did I manage to live 40+ years of my life in that environment, with all but chicken blood coursing through my veins, and yet not know about the tastiest part of the damn bird ... the chicken oyster.
I've enjoyed chicken livers ... seen the chicken gizzards ... observed the chicken neck boiling in its own pot ... torn apart chicken quarters with my bare hands ... picked at a whole chicken carcass prepared by the local grocery store ... risked my heart health by chomping down on crispy chicken skin ... eaten my weight, over and over again, of chicken drumsticks ... and chicken wings ... and chicken thighs ... and chicken breasts ... usually broasted as that's the family recipe ... and yet I've never had, NOR HAVE I KNOWN OF, the chicken oyster.
It was some cooking show this past week where I first discovered that not only does it exist ... it's apparently the best part!
I've sent away for that through-the mail DNA testing ... and I'm prepared to turn in my Neidermyer card once I get the results. I considered taking my mother's last name, but she has too many from which I could choose. Besides, before I could go too far down that path, I researched links to accompany tonight's post and I learned that there's also a part of the chicken known as the pope's nose ... and, you guessed it, THAT has also never been talked about at family reunions!
[Head explodes.]
I HOPE MY RELATIVES KNOW ABOUT THE OYSTERS AND THE POPE'S NOSE:
http://www.farewaymarket.com/neidermyers/
I'M ONLY EVER EATING CHICKEN OYSTERS AGAIN (THAT MAY NOT BE TRUE):
http://www.thepauperedchef.com/2010/02/the-mystery-of-the-chicken-oyster.html
WHAT'S THIS? ANOTHER CHICKEN MYSTERY NEVER TOLD ME BY MY ELDERS?!:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/04/01/the-popes-nose_n_1388363.html
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