While it might not appear realistic to others, our family has a unique and somewhat whimsical tradition when it comes to our eating habits, particularly with Chicken or duck curry. Regardless of the style or cuisine, my mom consistently reserves the bottom or tail part of the chicken for herself. The gizzard with the intestine is exclusively served to my dad, unless, of course, he’s in the mood to share with the rest of us.
This tradition holds a special significance for us, and when all the siblings are present, a specific allocation is made. The drumsticks find their way to the two younger sisters, while the wings are designated for my brother and me. The reasoning behind this division remains unclear to me. Perhaps it’s an inadvertent way to ensure that each family member receives a portion of meat in accordance with our age differences, or maybe it’s simply a quirky tradition that has evolved over time.
Regardless of its origins, I’ve grown accustomed to and, in a way, developed a fondness for this practice. There are moments, however, when I can’t help but envy my dad for consistently enjoying what is arguably the best part of the meal.
