I saw a sign in Pizza Hut this week saying, ‘Mother’s Day bookings now being taken’. Hardly the best way to show the person responsible for your very existence your appreciation is it? With a deep pan Meat Feast and an all-you-can-eat salad bar? (Actually, they do a nice salad bar in there, but still…)

This reminded me of perhaps the only time I’ve ever made a fuss of my dear old mum at this time of year, because as she always says, ‘Every day should be Mother’s Day’. (In theory I agree, but surely with nation-wide obesity on the rise, the last thing we need is a daily fix of Chocolate Oranges.)

I intended to take my mum out years ago and had booked this fancy restaurant in a nearby village that everyone was raving about. “Ooh, the black pudding is to die for!” one friend had boldly claimed, which I always thought was an unusual expression, as I’d never heard about anyone giving up their life for a dish consisting of mainly blood. (And surely the story of the Black Pudding Martyrs would be an important part of the curriculum?)

So the table was booked long in advance, with flowers and all the trimmings awaiting our arrival. As we drove across the country roads towards this haven of delights that awaited us, I felt that just for once, I was the son my mother had always wanted.

Then we saw the massive ‘CLOSED DOWN AWAITING INSPECTION’ sign that popped up on the horizon, and the day was ruined.

Disappointment kicked in first, followed by some rather choice language from my (increasingly less) dear old mother. We tried in vain to find somewhere else to salvage the afternoon but it was impossible, and I didn’t help matters by magically recreating that special feeling of panic normally reserved by men for Christmas Eve in the John Lewis perfume department.

Still, we were out, we were hungry, and suddenly The Colonel was calling. A KFC drive-through was the furthest thing from our minds earlier that Sunday afternoon, but as we scoffed our way through a family bucket (what better way to bond?) in my battle-weary Fiesta, I looked around the car park and saw we weren’t the only ones in this predicament.

Proof that Mother’s Day can be finger-lickin’ good.

Not keen on the restaurant route? Bake your mum a cake

When you are involved with a project that has integrity as its underlying theme and the person that drives it just happens to be a passionate, campaigning advocate of all things good concerning animal welfare and food production (who also has a near pathological desire to champion best practice and not be afraid to challenge anything or anyone that falls short of his high ideals), then you know you are in for quite an experience. This, I’m sure you will agree is quite apparent in ‘Chicken, Hugh and Tesco Too’.

When Hugh originally highlighted the plight of British broiler chickens in the River Cottage Chicken Out series it was clear that there were serious questions left unanswered by the supermarkets. I remember the very real emotion of running our own River Cottage experiment which in effect meant we had to replicate the conditions of a standard broiler house and I can assure you that none of us here at River Cottage would want to repeat it.

As the resident smallholder and host at River Cottage I work with Hugh to ensure that our animals and in this particular case our chickens have the best quality of life and care. Unfortunately 95% of the meat birds sold in supermarkets are not so lucky and it is because the situation is so bad that we feel strongly about how we choose to raise our own chickens. It might sound daft but if you allow your chickens to behave like chickens then they will naturally be happier and produce far superior meat and eggs.

We keep two types of chickens here at River Cottage, layers and table birds. In fact we don’t actually call our layers chickens at all. We distinguish them from the table variety by referring to the layers as hens. We don’t run a cockerel with them so it seems a fitting description. However, recently one of the hens has taken on the characteristics of a cockerel and my good friend Pammy Riggs (aka The Chicken Whisperer) tells me that it is quite common and in her neck of the woods they are called a ‘hinny’. Whether or not it will go the full distance and complete its sex change I have no idea but it does give you an insight into the incredible complex natural behavior of this magnificent bird.

We get on average 300 eggs per bird over the course of the year and during the current cold spell and darker nights they have more or less slowed right down. We keep Cuckoo Marrans and Black Rocks in a paddock by the farmhouse and they are with us until their natural laying lives are over. Traditionally, in the past they would have ended up in the pot however that would probably not be the case today. Laying hens put so much energy into producing eggs that they have very little meat on them at all and would not be considered good to eat unless you were starving or a fox.

So we keep table birds for that reason and they are thus called because they are reared solely for the meat. The meat chickens are a totally different proposition and although we are still talking about the same genus in the poultry world, they are as alike (or different) as a dog and a frog. For one they are much bigger and have been bred to produce large, long legs and round pronounced crowns. They do not get to the point of lay as they are taken on to slaughter before this happens even though they are a slow growing variety called Hubbard. We adhere to the Soil Association standards for organic free range chickens which mean they are with us for over 90 days and then once slaughtered, we hang them in a chiller for a few days before eviscerating them. Treating them much like a game bird and extend their meaty offering across two or perhaps three dishes. On the occasions Gill or Hugh do serve chicken you can guarantee that a stock or perhaps a risotto will be made from the leftovers in the days to follow. This is one way that you can show respect for your animals by making sure that there is no waste if they are being bred for food.

Of course another way of showing respect is making sure that their welfare is uppermost. We are currently in the process of having four new houses built for both hens and chickens which will be delivered to us by our friends, Stephanie and Chris, who have developed some fantastic bespoke designs and understand that space, correct access, ventilation and comfort are the main criteria for the welfare of the birds. The new houses will be set in areas which will allow access to plenty of space and natural light with dappled shade from young trees.

When you create the correct environment for your chickens it really shows in their behaviour. They dig for grubs in the grass, chase each other around and have boisterous rough and tumble sessions just like they would in a wild habitat. Here at River Cottage it’s not uncommon to see toys for them to play with or shaded ramps and bridges for them to cross. It’s bit like Alton Towers for poultry. Truth of the matter is that they go mad for pecking at old DVDs which we hang on string – although we don’t tell Hugh that they are from his early episodes, we tell him they are from the F Word.

Catch up on what went down on Chickens, Hugh and Tesco Too.

Try recipes from River Cottage.