The difference between being chicken and eating chicken

5 o'clock rolls around. Hungry and in a mad dash for another meeting in an hour, I anxiously run to CVS to pick up supplies for this "impromptu" dinner I was making.

Frantically calling my mother, an experienced cook and wise sage, the phone call went a little something like this:

Me: Mom...I don't have flour, lemon juice, oil or vinegar. I'm making lemon chicken and I only have lemon spices. What do I do?? I have Italian dressing. And pepper. That's it.

Mom: Calm down, Aimee. You're fine. Well, it's going to take an hour to...

Me: Mom! I don't have an hour!! I have half an hour!!!

The conversation went on for another 10 minutes or so, with my patient and ever-so-loving mother calming me down, talking me off a ledge and out of a full blown anxiety attack.

I made the bold decision to make a chicken recipe. Lemon chicken, in fact. However, when I found out that CVS does not carry lemon juice nor does it carry flour, I was in a pickle. Unable to drive to Kroger and back within an hour, I improvised.

I looked into my fridge and confidently took all the necessary ingredients to make a hodge-podge Italian feast Vito Corleone would be proud of.



The beginning stages of my meal. I marinated the chicken in Italian dressing and then proceeded to smother it in Italian seasonings. (Mind you, this is my first meal and I was going off the cuff)

I then had an internal dilemma. Bake or fry? Well, what's healthier? Baking. What's quicker? Frying.

I opted for the latter and well, just prepare yourself for what comes next. In my mind, I believe it's chaos personified:














Oil was getting everywhere and it shows. I'm one of those people that laugh anxiously whenever they get nervous, especially when hot oil is being flung from pan to skin. I may need to invest in an apron.



I do look miserable and in fact, I believe I was. I used the glove as an almost protective device from the oil. During this time, I began to feel very sorry for all the lethargic things I used to do at home. Back at home, my mother very thoughtfully made dinner each night and while it may not have been Emeril worthy, she still spent time and energy.

Am I missing this generous DNA strand or does it come in time?

The aftermath of the "last supper" was like my stove was washed with an oil tsunami.






I accompanied my "Italian" chicken with rice and green beans....from a can. Hey, what can I say. I'm starting out. Baby steps before I can tackle the big kahuna.

And, as I finished garnishing the meal I (and my loving roommate, Emily) worked so diligently on, I was overwhelmed with a sense of pride. I made my first meal! By myself...well, sort of. No help from Mum and not even with a Food Network recipe.




I know what you're thinking...it doesn't look half bad, right?

I interviewed my roommates during the meal and this is what they had to say:



My loving accomplice Emily:





And my other roommate, Sam:





When it was all said and done, this was a learning experience, if nothing less. The point of this blog is to try something i've never done before. Make mistakes, get a little dirty (if oil constitutes for that) and have fun.

Also, as a little tid bit...my mother is coming down on Thursday specifically to make dinner for my roommates and I. She will be presenting a "Cooking 101 for Dummies" that I am obligated to attend. So, hopefully I'll be more skilled after Thursday and perhaps it'll even show. My mother stresses the importance of a balanced meal and "planning."

I've never been a planner and I like to fly by the seat of my pants. But as they say, "it's all fun and games until someone hurt." And well, from the videos...I think I covered all grounds: the fun, games and hurt.

Until next time a self reflection...