Chicken mountain

One of the coolest features on my phone is a two-minute video where Sam the Cooking Guy walks you through the making of a BBQ chicken pizza.

Tonight we decided to give the recipe a try. So I took a drive to the supermarket for some ingredients.

When I got to the deli to order half a chook, I was greeted by a massive pile of chickens. The lady behind the counter - let's call her Rosie - smiled at me, and after the perfunctory exchange of niceties, took my order.

As she was attacking this oversized piece of poultry with what appeared to be a tiny pair of scissors, I remarked, "That's quite a stack of chickens you've got there." "Yes," she replied, "but they'll all be gone in an hour-and-a-half. Chickens are a big mover here."

She looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked me the strangest question, and one I've never been asked in a supermarket before: she wanted to know what I thought of the presentation of these greasy, roasted chooks. I said it looked like a giant chicken traffic jam.

She went on to explain that before she came to Australia seven months ago, she had specialised in the art / science of food presentation. And this - this 'chicken mountain' - went against everything she believes about food: what it is, and how people interact with it.

I remarked that I'd had a similar conversation with a chef friend a little while back, as he described the processes our brain goes through when our senses are engaged by food - before we've even taken the first bite.

She went on to say that good food - food that is presented well - will give a man an appetite even if he's already eaten a meal. She said presentation of food is everything - it's like a man meeting a woman. The man is struck by the woman on that first appearance - is she well-presented, attractively dressed, tidy, sexy? (At this stage I was still coming to grips with the fact that I was having this conversation with the chook-chopping lady in the supermarket deli.)

We talked about how the presentation of food reflects the intent of its purveyors. This stack of chicken meat said only one thing: product to be sold in mass quantities; what matters most here is the making of $$$. A chook production line for a chook-eating machine.

She was so passionate about the issue that she walked around to my side of counter, and we both stared together, conversing over the poultry pile-up. I took a photo, and a few other people were standing nearby wondering what the source of our fascination was.

"It looks like a mountain of meat," I said. "Actually, the only thing missing is snow. Next time I come, I'll be sure to bring my skis."

We had a little laugh and then she said so seriously, "This is food for human beings, and yet look at it: it's just thrown out here." "Yes," I agreed, "it's a pig trough."

Rosie then shared a little of her hope to gently bring her expertise and passion to bear on her work in the deli. But she finds it so hard to get people to listen - especially those above her who feel the need to pull on their rank.

"It's small steps," I reminded her, and we agreed that people change the world a little bit at a time. As I left I said to her, "Rosie, I like your style. Though the presentation of this food is appalling, your service and attitude has made my day. I'll be keeping an eye out for you next time I'm down here."

I then walked over to the fish section and ordered some seafood marinara from the young man behind the counter. He weighed it and I asked, "Could you please take a little bit out, if that's not too much trouble?" He smiled and as he returned some of the mixture said, "That's what I'm here for, right? Have a good evening, and enjoy your meal."

Don't you love it when the dignity of people rises above their situation?