You feel tense, little bird.

So today I embarked on another new adventure. Another entry in the list
of firsts Meegs has tried on the Chicago adventure.

I cooked a Chicken.

Now as most of you know, I DO know how to cook chicken breasts. Many of
you have tasted the wonderful creations George Foreman and I have
whipped up together. However, this is my first attempt to roast a full
chicken, bones and all.

I have to say that preparing a whole raw chicken is probably one of the
grossest, most disgusting things I've ever done in my life. Its right
up there with sleeping in a bedroom with an 8in spider on the loose on
the "this gives me the willies" meter. Did you know there are hearts
and livers and necks inside those packaged chickens? And you have to go
in there with your hand and get them out? Its true. If the perdue
company takes the time to pluck off the feathers and shrinkwrap them I'm
plastic, can't they be bothered to get rid of the yucky bits too? And
then there's a little butt bone on the end...

So I made the chicken dance in the sink for a while, and the "giblets"
(a colloquialism derived from "gross bits") finally fell out. Then I
gave the chicken a bath. Chicken armpits feel eerily human. I gave her
a quick BSE because the best prevention is early detection, you know.
Then I patted her dry and warmed up some olive oil in my hands and gave
her a good rub down. As I got to a particularly tight spot between her
2nd and 3rd thoracic vertebrae I asked her if she had any traumatic
events in her life recently. When she didn't answer I freaked out
because I remembered she's a chicken carcass, and her muscles are tight
because she's dead. And that ladies and gentlemen is why I quit massage
therapy school.

So I put her in Reynolds body bag with some veggies and garlic and
patted her little chicken butt goodbye.

I miss her already. All that is left is her scent lingering in the
kitchen. It smells pretty damn good.