Katie Johnson's Chicken-Flavored Valentine
Bryan was a takeout junkie, incapable of making even the simplest of snacks, and I believed it was high time he saw how a home-cooked meal was done. In an effort to keep things simple, I proposed the idea of fettuccine alfredo. Bryan however, in an effort to be a pain in the ass, negotiated chicken into the equation.
I agreed to his terms, noting that this whole crash course in cooking was really for his benefit and that picking around the poultry would be a fairly minor challenge.
But now here I was, stuck between a cock and a hard place. With one bite I could simultaneously confirm my natural ability for producing perfectly cooked meats and completely destroy my reputation as a full-fledged herbivore.
I looked at Bryan.
Was he worth it?
I gazed down at the chicken.
Did it matter? I mean . . . What had vegetarianism really done for me?
My mind drew a blank, and my mouth began to water.
If I was going to break my two-year meat hiatus, it might as well have been with the animal I despised most. After all, eating this species' existence entirely off the food chain, was a cause I could really get behind.
Without giving it another moment's thought I popped a piece of hot poultry in my mouth and shot Bryan a satisfied smile.