Wednesday, November 15, 2006


Everybody can do a few things well. For some it’s throwing a ball, others it’s cursing someone out. I can do chicken. All different ways, baked, fried, noodle soup, but a favorite is the roaster. It's amazing; you've never had a sweeter, tenderer, juicer piece of fowl in your entire life.

Well last night I made one, but instead of getting the usual 3 pound bird, I went for a 6 pounder. Due to its massive size, it took 2 hours to cook instead of the 1, and because I had to cook it at 550, let’s just say it was a tad warm. I had to turn the heater off because it was starting to feel like a Turkish bathhouse.

So 2 hours and 2 bottles of wine later I went to pull the chicken out of the oven and the heat from molten pan that it was in passed through my oven mitt and burned the shit out of my hands. I dropped the bird, the pan and all of that sweet juice, fat and oil into the oven, which instantaneously shot forth a massive fireball. I stood there completely frozen, entranced by the demon mouth licking flames from its door mouth, sizzling black heifer chicken half hanging out, looking like it’s trying to escape a burning building. I was having multiple thoughts at one time but could not act on one them. "Should I get the fire extinguisher?" "wow that looks insane" "where are the dogs?".

Luckily my roommate had seen the reflection of the blast and had the wits about him to turn the oven OFF. G pulled the bird out with metal prongs and threw its charred carcass on the table. I just stood there, hands burning, dilated pupils from my eye exam that day tearing up from the black smoke that filled my house, fire alarm going off piercing my ears. I started laughing hysterically, maniacally. What a show! And damned if that chicken still delicious.


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