ChickenLips

Home/Newbery by Year/Newbery Title Index/Newbery Subject Index/Newbery Author Index

Chicken lips

By David Ross

I'm not so sure about my parents. Every time they start cooking, I get nervous. Maybe I should report them. Is there a food police?

On Monday my mom picked me up from preschool because it was dad's turn to cook. As soon as I ran into the kitchen I asked him, "What's for dinner?" He turned, smiled at me and said, "chicken lips." I'm only four but I'm pretty sure chickens don't have lips.

On Tuesday night my mom was working the stove. "What's cooking, mom?" I asked after giving her a kiss. She smiled and said, "snake hair." I think my mom is confused. Her snake hair looks a lot like spaghetti.

On Wednesday my dad was back in the kitchen. My little brother sat in the middle of the floor, dripping milk from his bottle onto the new tile. Dad looked mad but still smiled when I asked him what he was cooking. "Your favorite," he said. "Fish legs." I walked over to the fridge and pulled out the catsup. Fish legs taste better with lots of catsup on them.

Thursday is always leftover night. We open up all the plastic containers and pick and choose what we want. The chicken lips were starting to turn blue so I went for another round of the snake hair.

Friday night is usually date night. Every time my dad says that, mom just sighs and looks sad. Date night means that me, mom, dad, my brother and my grandma climb into the van and drive to a family restaurant. From what my cousins tell me, dating is more fun when you're a teen-ager.

On Saturday my best friend, Mikey, gets to spend the night. He's always excited because of the weird things my parents say they cook. He can't wait to ask my dad what's on the barbecue in our big backyard. My dad doesn't let him down. "Buffalo chips," dad roars with a grin. I ask my mom for some dip, but she says the hamburger buns will work just fine.

At our house, breakfast is the big meal on Sunday. We sleep late and then head downstairs when good smells start coming out of the kitchen. As usual, Sunday mornings in the kitchen belong to mom. "What are we having today?" I yell as Mikey and I race around the corner. With a flick of her head in our direction, my mom says, "egg brains and monkey fingers." Mikey is so excited he jumps up and down and scratches under his arms. My dad grunts and takes a bite out of his bagel. He says he's watching his weight. That means he looks at his belly a lot and shakes his head.

Now that I think about it, my parents are good cooks. I'm lucky they can turn all these animal parts into meals that other people make with normal stuff. I'm even going to help them when I turn five. Grandma said I can give them her recipe for jellyfish ribs.