Rejecting the Refrigerator


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Is anyone else tired of chicken? Not just any chicken, the plain chicken you get in the grocery store that you have to take home and put in the refrigerator. That chicken. That kind of food.

I’m tired of tasteless. My taste buds aren’t 95 years old. I’m not gumming my food. And my cultural inclination- when eating meat- is to embellish it, with or without sauce…

Or seven herbs and spices, the kind the colonel makes. The colonel used to make. The colonel used to have his workers make. After all, he’s dead, and so is his chicken…tortured or untortured…thrown against the wall or not thrown against the wall…Kentucky Fried Chicken, the eighth wonder of the world.

Maybe, in my longing for small, controlled plastic sealed mashed potatoes and gravy, I feel a certain affinity with the rest of the USA. That would make sense, as this Irish boy does not feel at home- some of the time- in this polyglot nation of fast food giants,

Which would make you cook at home most of the time. Which I do. Which is why I am eating fresh ingredients from my refrigerator’s vast domain. Which is why I am getting tired of eating yummy things that are healthy for me. Which is why I drool passing by the aroma of freshly frying chicken. Which is another reason for writing in phrases, breaking all the rules of standard English in one paragraph.

Perhaps, though, there is some truth to those fringe elements, those who have made documentaries of horrific tales of chemical additive addiction. And not just those who  religiously read The Weekly world News, but a vast contingent of average, law-abiding citizens.

People like this man….

so_i_married_an_axe_murderer

 

who claim the colonel adds an addictive chemical making you “cleave fortnightly.” (Mike Myers, So I Married An Axe Murderer)

Nevertheless, I am determined…yes, I have pledged…to drive forty-five minutes to partake in the juicy-seared-goodness of the colonel’s chicken- regardless of that poor chicken’s previous treatment in captivity before succombing to the plucker,  the freezer, and trip to the restaurant.

I shall be away for awhile, enjoying my plastic tub of mashed potatoes and gravy, but I shall return soon to eat dinner at home, with or without sauce.

 

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About thelostkerryman

Thelostkerryman is an author, entrepreneur, and disciple- this side of Tir Na N'Og- living in the forests of a consistently confused country. Here in this hill country, hurling doesn't usually involve a hurley, store-made soda bread resembles an inedible Irish megalith, and Kerrygold is only found hidden like a luck penny in the belly of Kroger. This blog is an account of his adventures, thoughts, eclectic -and eccentric- ramblings, random or insightful poetry, humor and non-humor, pictures (photos), video, essays, fiction, poetic fiction, nonfiction, drama, and writing he has not classified in the description above. All of my posts, thelostkerryman.wordpress.com, everydayasadisciple.wordpress.com, and mrandmrsboring.wordpress.com are copywrited according to international copywrite law.
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8 Responses to Rejecting the Refrigerator

  1. Lol, love it – I’ll take a bowl while you are out!

  2. PS It was a horrible experience. I am giving up fast food for non-Lent.

  3. reocochran says:

    I am often caught up in the way others prepare their food daily. Enjoy the fact I have passed my wooden spoons and most cooking utensils onto my 2 girls and son. I prefer eating out, but sometimes will make simple meals, tomato soup and grilled cheese. I understand the rejection of the refrigerator! I can agree with that on most days!!

  4. Pieter Stok says:

    I love the post! Even though I don”t like chicken. 😉

  5. gimpet says:

    I was the primary nurse to a very ill child of a menonite family. I went to their home to set up all his dialysis equipment, and they allowed me to tour their turkey farm. Completely horrifying. The cacophony and smell when the door to the adult pen was opened was enough to make my eyes water and my ears ring. In this enormous space were several hundred birds with no room to move. I know it was a commercial enterprise, but I just couldn’t endure that kind of cruelty. So am I vegetarian now? Sigh, no, I am just hypocritical…

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