I’d like to introduce this section of the blog I like to call, Confessions; where every month I reveal my most gluttonous, pathetic, guilty food pleasures and habits with you, because let’s face it, we’ve all hidden chicken under our beds before. No…just me? Okay, here it goes.
Confession of the Month:
I hid a rotisserie chicken leg on a plate under my bed, because I feared my brother would eat it before me.
Well if that isn’t one of the more pathetic food confessions you’ve heard, you’re in luck, because boy, do I have a lot more desperate tales than this one. This is just to get you warmed up for what juicy scandals are to come later.
To give you some context, my brother and I are extremely competitive, especially when it comes to food. We go as far as to dibs the “good wing” on the turkey every Thanksgiving, Xmas and Easter dinner. (Yes, there are rules to appropriately dibs, which my sister has so kindly put in place, to avoid a battle at the dinner table.) Rule: we must text or call her 24 hours prior to dinner, to dibs the better wing on the turkey. Yes, we are adults.
Due to our competitive nature and equal love of food, leftovers, especially rotisserie chicken, were a rare sight to be seen in our family’s fridge. This particular evening, my mother picked up my favorite – rotisserie chicken from Safeway. The chicken was devoured in 7 minutes. Thinking there was nothing left of the chicken, we all headed our separate ways to finish homework, watch tv etc etc.
Thanksgiving 2017 – Rotisserie Turkey – Chef Dad.
Hours later, feeling a pang of hunger, I went to the fridge looking to score a solid food find. As I opened the door, there it was, glowing in the fridge light, like the star of it’s very own Broadway show, the leftover rotisserie chicken leg. I panicked, knowing my brother wasn’t far from the kitchen. In one foul swoop, I was running with a chicken leg hidden in my sweater through the hallways and up the stairs to my bedroom, so my bro couldn’t catch even a glimpse or wif.
Knowing my bro was still walking about, I felt it was too risky to eat the chicken at that very moment. I would save it for a later time, when everyone was asleep.
The chicken safely lay on its plate under my bed for what felt like, for me, an eternity. I waited patiently for the most opportune time to indulge. Hours past, everyone was in bed, now was my time.
In the dark of the night, I ate the chicken leg in my bed with a maniacal grin plastered across my face.
Every bite was better than the last, and finally the only thing left was a clean bone. I then placed the graveyard of bones under my bed for a stealthy removal in the morning. I survived to eat another chicken, and eat another chicken I would.