Chicken Reza

The first time I ever boarded a plane was when I was nine years old. It wasn’t to go to Disneyland or Spain or anywhere else you’d typically expect a first holiday to be; it was to go to my father’s motherland, Iran.
It was unforgettably hot when we stepped out of the airport and were greeted by a cousin, I’d not met. He drove us from the airport to an area in the South of Iran called Ahvaz, where my father had grown up. At first, I was overwhelmed by the amount of family members who were there to greet us on our arrival. I thought that they had all come together just to welcome us, as it was the first time that my dad had been back in years but I later found out that they were always together like this, every day. That wasn’t the strange part though, the weirdest thing about it for me, was that nobody seemed to have any pets. In fact, I think that I was the only person there to have ever owned a pet during my one month stay. It wasn’t the most usual of pets either for a nine year old girl; it was a cockerel I had named ‘Chicken Reza’ after my cousin Reza; who was not in the slightest bit flattered by this gesture.
I hadn’t gone out with the intention of bringing a pet chicken back to my grandmother’s house, it just happened.
My father and I were out shopping one day for some chicken to have for dinner, and I was half expecting there to be a supermarket with already dead chickens in ready for us to buy, but where we went, looked more like a pet shop to me. There were loads of these chickens cooped up in cages outside of this store, and how it worked was, you picked one out alive, they chopped its head off in front of you, and then they would put it into a machine which removed all of its feathers. I had another idea however; I saw this one cockerel, pure white with the reddest comb of the bunch, and instead of looking at him and seeing food I looked at him and saw life. I decided to save him, which my grandmother was not happy about to say the least when we had returned with this chicken who walked freely around her home like a dog.
Unfortunately her mentality was not the same as mine when it came to seeing him as more than just something to eat, because after a couple of weeks of having him, he mysteriously vanished. My dad told me that Chicken Reza had flown away but it wasn’t until years later when I learned that chickens don’t actually fly, that I questioned him and got the truth. My grandmother had cooked Chicken Reza for dinner.

Why you should stop throwing your cigarette butts on the floor immediately

Cigarette butts are one of the highest forms of litter found in cities and urban areas, so it is not surprising to learn that animals, particularly smaller ones such as squirrels and puppies mistake them for food.
Many people don’t think about the harm they are doing when they carelessly drop their butts after smoking but it can take anything from eighteen months to ten years for a filter to degrade. This part of the cigarette is there for the purpose of containing toxins such as ammonia, arsenic, benzene, turpentine as well as tar and particles. When consumed by an animal this can cause a number of health problems including vomiting, tremors and hypersalivation.

Marine life is also affected my littered cigarette butts as research suggests that just one filter soaking in water for a day can be hazardous enough to kill 50% of fish in a litre of water. Dolphins specifically have been highlighted as one of the most affected by the toxins as they contain the most blubber which is where the contamination concentrates.

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There are now bins containing ash trays specifically for the disposal of cigarette butts, so the next time you finish a cigarette make sure that you don’t just throw it on the floor but dispose of it properly for the sake of wildlife and the environment.

The therapeutic side of cooking

Being a chef is said to be one of the most stressful jobs out there and in a working environment it undoubtedly is, but what about when you’re just cooking at home?

Strictly speaking in a non professional sense, some people love it and some hate it but when you’re not in a rush, cooking can actually be quite therapeutic.

Say your feeling quite angry for instance, cooking can help, because it will take you’re mind off of whatever has upset you and release it through the physical activity of cooking itself.
The physical side of it is therapeutic itself because it is a strenuous activity, so you’ll probably feel too tired afterwards anyway (depending on what you’re cooking) to even think about any other stresses of the day.
For those who strive for the feeling of accomplishment, cooking is for you. It is very satisfying to know you have created something that you and others can enjoy. Whip up something exceptional and it can have people talking for weeks even months. In fact I remember eating a particular person’s cooking as a child and years later I still remember it well.

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It is an activity you can never totally master, meaning you can continuously keep learning and progressing because there are so many recipes all over the world, to learn and attempt, the list is endless, you’d never get bored.
So next time your feeling negative, give cooking a go, you may walk away feeling a sense of achievement.