Well, I just discovered my fear. I've discovered my fear of raw chicken in the whole. In my attempt to be domestic and to cook "fine dining" for my roommates, I chose to make herb-roasted chicken (garnished with lemon-black pepper, basil, sage, and garlic), home-made mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, and corn.
As I was washing the chicken out, I started to fear that this creature would come back alive. I felt its bones, its breast, its insides... and I seriously freaked out. There was something odd about washing this poor thing that - if it were alive, it would be pecking around and flapping its wings about.
I was disturbed and perturbed. I'm dead serious. What's gonna happen when I grow up and have kids and a husband and am craving chicken and I get freaked out about touching it? Holding it? Washing it? YECK.
And yet, the chicken is now in the oven, baking and roasting away. And it smells pretty dang good.
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