Friday, August 17, 2012

Self-delusion, Volume 2 -- The One about The Chicken Breasts

I would have included this in the previous post but I couldn't remember it until a little while ago when I saw the chicken breasts sitting on a plate on my kitchen counter.

Rewinding just a bit, I had a beautiful rack of organic, boneless chicken breasts in my ice box a while back.  And I got worried that I wouldn't have a chance to eat them before they went bad, so at some point I popped them in the freezer.  Then, the other day, I took them back out to let them thaw again.

Then I forgot about them for a day or so as they sat in the bottom shelf of the ice box.  And then last night I unwrapped them and gave them the smell test.  Which they passed.

But I was still suspicious.  I washed them carefully, patted them dry, applied some oil, salt, pepper, and the spice rub I get from the spice rub guy at the farmers' market, and threw them in my deluxe George Foreman grill.  Which, despite the ridiculousness of the very idea of George Foreman, a man who named all his sons George, even having a grill, is really an amazingly convenient appliance.

So I cooked them up.

But I never trusted them.  I kept saying to myself 'Hey, they passed the smell test' but then a voice in the back of my head was saying 'They may have passed the smell test, but that paper wrapper smelled a little funky.'

A voice in the back of your head?
Like me!  How wonderful.
Yeah, I suppose.

So I never trusted them.

When they were done, I sliced off a tiny bit of cooked breast and chewed it.  It was fine, although in the  back of my head I couldn't help think it was a bit sour-tasting.  So I stopped eating it and watched an episode of Pardon the Interruption.  Then I went back and tasted another bit.  And then another.

And then the voice in the back of my head said to me 'Man's ability to fool himself is exceeded only by...  well, I'm not sure what,' to which I found myself bobbing my head in agreement.  The voice then added 'And you're crazy if you think that chicken breast is okay.  Throw the goddam things out.'

Which I did.


Or rather, which I resolved to do the next time I thought about it.  Which is now, except I'm in the studio and they are still sitting on my kitchen counter.


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