Let me tell you a story, kids. This is not my traditional blog post. It’s more of an anecdote. Read on at your own discretion.
Have you ever heard of Engagement Chicken? Supposedly, this woman at Glamour magazine made this roast chicken for her boyfriend and shortly after, he proposed. She then gave the recipe to a few of her co-workers and they made it for their own boyfriends, and they quickly became engaged, as well (do you know multiple co-workers’ boyfriends ready to pop the question? Me neither). The recipe was printed in Glamour and readers began writing in letters about how this magic chicken worked for them, too.
Let’s all get married and be happy Glamour readers forever!
Glamour did not disclose how many girls made the chicken and gave their boyfriends salmonella. More of a Cosmopolitan story, I guess.
Anyway. I kept reading about this chicken. And frankly, it didn’t make me want to get engaged, it made me want roast chicken. So last night I found the recipe online and carefully hid the article title from my unsuspecting boyfriend (Hiya, BF, no I’m not waiting for a ring, please don’t freak out and leave me, thanks). I can’t tell you how many times I checked that recipe. No seasoning. Right. No seasoning? No seasoning. Rosemary? No, just garnish. No seasoning. Thyme? No, just garnish. No seasoning.
Just lemon. Lemon juice. Lemon juice and chicken. So I made the stupid chicken and plucked the stupid bones for the stupid measly meat that you get when you cook a whole chicken and fed it to my boyfriend who politely said, “Great meal.”
And it got me thinking. Engagement chicken. Poor Glamour reader Rachel pored over this article (look to the kitchen, article, kitchen, back to article, back to kitchen) and thought, “I bet Robert would love to see me in the kitchen doing more than pouring cereal.” And she went to the store and bought all 4 ingredients required and Robert walked into the apartment that night and smelled something cooking (“Actually cooking?!”) and thought to himself, “I’ve gotta call Mom! The girl can cook, too!” And practically fell to his knee to ask Rachel to marry him.
Let’s cut to those of us who can actually cook. Not to pat myself on the back, but my own BF has enjoyed sausage risotto, penne a la vodka, homemade four cheese macaroni with pancetta, filet mignon with scallops over creamed corn, chocolate chip pancakes, and many, many other dishes that his lovely girlfriend (that’s me) made from scratch. I don’t know about you other cooks out there, but this lemon chicken wasn’t sending him straight from the couch to Cartier.
I’m sorry if I dashed the hopes of any women out there who thought this was their ticket to the altar. Truth be told, if he wants you for your chicken, girl, you’ve got bigger problems.