De-Frosted

I have been gone for a week when I go to the store on Thursday so I kinda stock up.  I buy pork, chicken, cheese, a couple of different kinds of lettuce, carrots, celery, humus, lemons, yogurt, english muffins and wine.  

Nothing like a full larder to make me feel competent and comforted.

Breezing toward the weekend, we have a doctored-up pizza Thursday night and spiced-up pork chops Friday. Saturday morning, I drop the frozen chicken breasts on the counter for a spell and then  shove them in the refrigerator just before we go and help Sig’s mother pack; she’s moving to a new apartment in May. 

Later, as I look at the wrapped un-cooked chicken, Sig offers to go out and pick something up. Yay, I say — he comes back with grilled chicken meals from KFC. I pick all of the meat off the bones.

The next day, we leave right after lunch for more packing.  It is nearly 6:00 when we come back home. I check my e-mail, finish reading the paper, talk to a friend — then, “Hey, are you cooking something tonight — or should I just eat cereal?”  

Chicken breasts, I think. After I saute the filets and serve them up with a pilaf and a salad, it occurs to me that de-frosted meat has waaay too much control.

2 thoughts on “De-Frosted

  1. Hi S – You crack me up! I LOVE your blog!

    I, too, had defrosted chicken breasts hanging over my preverbal head. Actually, they were in my fridge. Mine, unlike yours, went in the trash. They’re not going to tell me what to cook.

    Miss you!

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