It started out good; I had a ton of errands to run so I put the chicken and all the fixing’s in a crock pot for chicken cacciatore. It cooked all day and the aroma was mouth watering. I put a pretty tablecloth and place settings out but realized I had no tapers. No worries. I just took my huge candles from my bedroom put them on pretty plates and put them all over the table, a little excessive but who doesn’t like a lot of candle light?
As I put the garlic bread in the oven, cooked the pasta it was time to take the chicken cacciatore out of the crock pot.
Whatever was cooking, was right, to my horror, the chicken fell a part in pieces right off the bone right into the sauce, the sauce that I needed for the pasta. You couldn’t tell a leg from a thigh and I still don’t know what happen to the wings. There were large bones, small bones, tiny tiny bones. This was not good.
Between the excessive candlelight and picking out the bones of every bite he took, the poor guy worked up a sweat. He hung in there for quite along time, until I finally told him; you don't have to eat this. But as he wiped his brow for the fifth time with the very nicely placed cloth napkin, he went in for a second helping.
His only comment was, ‘he doesn’t work this hard on his job.” I started laughing and couldn't stop. After all these years I knew he was eating the food not to spare my feelings, but he was eating the food for mere survivorship and apparently the man was starving.
Bad news; I had to throw the rest of the meal a way. Good news; I transferred the candles to the family room and no trips to the ER, at least not yet.
Dessert anyone?
