Adidas

Filipinos have the knack for words. They can coin words and make it into something humorous or even funny. And Filipinos eat anything too..well, almost anything. I did my part when I was growing up as my mom would never throw away anything; when we complained she would always invoke "going hungry during world war 2." But as I got older and my personal finances improved, I tried to act like I came out of her womb already civilized. Note that I said 'tried.'
My older brother and the rest of the population likes to eat chicken feet. And so do I. To mask the criminality of the word, Filipinos calls them 'Adidas'. Barbecued, stewed or in soups, chicken feet is pretty tasty, I have to admit. But sans the nails. I love the stewed kind and always order them at dimsum. I was in Kuala Lumpur and a friend asked if I would eat chicken feet for breakfast. He said it comes with Chinese mushroom. Feet and fungus on the same line with breakfast? Well, do as the Romans do.
There's something appealing about something small, something thin, but the adidas on my plate were very fat I was not sure if they were really chicken feet. This one was not chopped into little pieces. From the knee all the way down, 2 feet arranged ominously in my plate. I gulped them down anyway.
Three days later I was back home in Cebu, I went out for lunch and guess what I was craving for, again...adidas.
I went to Dimsum and ordered a plate. Then I started to examine the soft as silk adidas on my plate. Unlike what I had in KL, these are chopped into small bite size pieces. I pondered, since I really love this 'delicacy' I should try making them at home in order to save money. So the next day, I went to the nearby grocery store. There was a big pile of them in behind the glass counter. I looked around to make sure none of my friends saw me with the tong diligently checking each feet. Civilized people should not admit to eating adidas. I started to feel grossed out as I was doing this because -should I call them toes? they were like baby fingers with baby nails. I asked the attendant if she could get one of the boys at the back to cut the nails out and she gave me that look like, "who do you think you are?" Ok, I got the point, so when I got home I started washing them and pulling those "yellow" scales that were still stuck in some of them. As I was doing this, I was really beginning to feel sick in my stomach. My minds eye was trying to describe them; cats claws? baby fingers? oh dear, it's chicken feet, one you love to eat, my mind seems to remind me. I did not think I wanted to go through with it, but instead I got my kitchen shears and cut the nails out ..one by one. By this time, I already knew I won't eat it. I can't eat it. Them nails did me in. I put them in the crockpot, seasoned them with star anise, peppercorns, garlic, soy sauce and I went to bed and tried to put them out of my mind.
The next morning, I was anxious to see how it turned out. It smelled good and almost look like the one I order at Dimsum. Jordan, this poor malnourished 11 year old boy who I inherited from the neighborhood kids, looked at them and told me he is not hungry. " You're always hungry, why are you not hungry this morning, are you sick?" "No, those make me sick" he pointed to my pot. I was mad and wanted to say something like --you are poor and malnourished, you can't be picky. How dare you not eat them, I even eat them. Until now.
I really can't blame Jordan, because as I was looking at my pot full of adidas, I don't think I will ever eat them again. Nails or without nails.