The other day I made the most awful, offensive thing to grace my stove in many, many years. And frankly, that’s a good thing.
Let me clarify that. Sometimes that’s a good thing.
It all started with the chicken thighs I had bought. I had already cut the vegetables that would be going with the chicken and had them ready to go before I looked in on the meat. It was grey. The kind of grey that suggested death and bad omens. Basically, shit I didn’t want anywhere near my stomach. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some chicken, but when that shit goes bad, I’d almost rather eat a closed oyster. It’s not worth the risk of getting sick. But when the chicken went bad, that’s where things went down hill…
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