How much chicken can one woman eat?
So, there is going to be a dinner party at the house this weekend. An old college friend of Mrs. Nutty Professor will be in town with her husband for the weekend, and so we are having a small gathering at the house Saturday evening.
Now, I very much enjoy entertaining. Our circle of friends has become quite good at this, and it has been extremely nice in the last few months to make the rounds and catch up with people and have fantastic meals.
So, this weekend it is our turn. I'm a little disappointed that some of the usual suspects (G-Fav, Lecturess) won't be in attendance, but it will still be fun, especially because I get to cook, which I generally enjoy.
Which brings me to the story...
I was out at the grocery store this evening, securing provisions for the dinner. Now, the main course that I am planning is a stuffed chicken dish. If you do this the old fashioned way, you buy boneless chicken breasts, butterfly them with a sharp knife, and then pound them flat with a kitchen mallet. (I guess if you do it the *really* old fashioned way, you start with a live chicken and go from there).
If you are a little lazier, Perdue sells these great chicken breasts that are essentially fillets - nice and thin and flat - perfect for what this recipe calls for. So, I go to grocery store #1 -- no luck, just regular chicken breasts. Hopeful, I move on to store #2 in search of these breasts. No dice. I bite the bullet and buy the regular chicken breasts and resign myself to an evening of butterfly-ing and mallet-ing.
As I am checking out, I notice a woman in another checkout line. Her cart is full of these special chicken breasts. I am not talking 5 or 10, I mean that she has upward of 25 packages of these chicken breasts in her cart. Now, I understand that they were on sale, but my god, this lady bought the entire stock. Incredulous, I think I muttered something along the lines of "son of a bitch", which she evidently heard. At this point I felt very bad because she asked me if I wanted to take some of the chicken.
Sheepishly, I smiled and said no thanks, paid for my groceries and went home. I mean, really, was I going to root through this lady's cart to pick out some chicken?
Anyway, that's my story for the evening. I came home and did a fair bit of prep work for the dinner Saturday, and plan to do some more tomorrow so that Saturday I can pop open a bottle of wine and cook in peace.
Now, I very much enjoy entertaining. Our circle of friends has become quite good at this, and it has been extremely nice in the last few months to make the rounds and catch up with people and have fantastic meals.
So, this weekend it is our turn. I'm a little disappointed that some of the usual suspects (G-Fav, Lecturess) won't be in attendance, but it will still be fun, especially because I get to cook, which I generally enjoy.
Which brings me to the story...
I was out at the grocery store this evening, securing provisions for the dinner. Now, the main course that I am planning is a stuffed chicken dish. If you do this the old fashioned way, you buy boneless chicken breasts, butterfly them with a sharp knife, and then pound them flat with a kitchen mallet. (I guess if you do it the *really* old fashioned way, you start with a live chicken and go from there).
If you are a little lazier, Perdue sells these great chicken breasts that are essentially fillets - nice and thin and flat - perfect for what this recipe calls for. So, I go to grocery store #1 -- no luck, just regular chicken breasts. Hopeful, I move on to store #2 in search of these breasts. No dice. I bite the bullet and buy the regular chicken breasts and resign myself to an evening of butterfly-ing and mallet-ing.
As I am checking out, I notice a woman in another checkout line. Her cart is full of these special chicken breasts. I am not talking 5 or 10, I mean that she has upward of 25 packages of these chicken breasts in her cart. Now, I understand that they were on sale, but my god, this lady bought the entire stock. Incredulous, I think I muttered something along the lines of "son of a bitch", which she evidently heard. At this point I felt very bad because she asked me if I wanted to take some of the chicken.
Sheepishly, I smiled and said no thanks, paid for my groceries and went home. I mean, really, was I going to root through this lady's cart to pick out some chicken?
Anyway, that's my story for the evening. I came home and did a fair bit of prep work for the dinner Saturday, and plan to do some more tomorrow so that Saturday I can pop open a bottle of wine and cook in peace.
posted by Professor B at 10:46 PM
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