Moose in the Kitchen

Tonight’s dinner almost convinced me to abandon my worship at the altar of seared flesh in order to spend the rest of my days gnawing on lettuce leaves and small carrots. Cutting the tips off naked, goosebumpy chicken wings is gross. There’s no other word for it. Stomach danced the revulsion jig, I braced the knife at the joint of the chicken wing and pushed. Then pushed again. Then, because I’m a weakling, pushed again before the joint finally gave in a chorus of collapsing gristle. Did I mention that this is gross? My frugal nature is the only thing keeping me from abandoning a lifetime of service to the church of tasty animal flesh. Those chicken wings cost six whole dollars and DAMNED IF I’LL WASTE IT. So I clamped the inside of my cheek between my jaw and listened to the crunching of bone under my knife.

Halfway through the brutal bone desecration, the oven started smoking. Usually it smokes only after I’ve put something in it and wandered away to inspect the dust bunnies under the sofa. I opened up the oven door and billows of thick smoke poured out. Forgotten drip pans from this weekend’s cherry pie were bubbling like black miasma from hell. I bet hell smells better than twice burnt cherry juice.

Moral of the story? Vegetable matter can be just as disgusting as animal flesh, so you might as well eat whatever you want. (Step aside, Aesop. MY PROFUNDITY IS STAGGERING.)

(If what you want happens to be honey lemon chicken wings, I do recommend this recipe. Just be aware that buying chicken in a nice plastic-wrapped package from the grocery store assures you nothing in terms of wing tip attachment and the implied necessity of skeleton smashing.)

(Also, if you go to Leah and Simon’s house for dinner where they serve you perfectly seared tuna and delicious fig salad, take two desserts. (Take dessert BEFORE it yields bubbling black hell-spawned goo. Don’t serve hell goo to friends.) One for after the meal, and one for your hosts to eat for breakfast the next day. It’s only polite. Especially after they let you sit in their hot tub in spite of your dubious hygiene. (I kid!))

(End parentheticals.)

If you were wondering, the chicken wings are juicy and crispy with honey garlic goodness. And we’re watching the first episode of So You Think You Can Dance’s second season. Which reminds me of the time someone thought it would be a good idea to put me on roller skates in a high school musical. I skated right off the end of the stage.