©2019 by The Loathiest. Proudly created with Wix.com

  • theloathiest

BBQ Chicken Breasts of Inordinately Large Size

Updated: Feb 19, 2019


They were just huge.

Life is hard with kids.


I got up and was on the road to work long before the sun. 10 hours on the clock. I get home. It’s dark. I don’t remember looking out the window today at all. The sky may have been purple tartan for all I can tell you. I want to sit on the couch and watch The Masked Singer on the DVR. Maybe I’ll surf the internets. No responsibilities. It’s getting late sooner these days.


Time to make dinner. Time to make dinner. Time to make dinner. Crap balls.

The petulant boy inside me stands up, racecar in hand. Hold my breath. Turn red. Hair tussled. I won’t do it. I won’t. Grown man in me, beer in hand, knows there are dinosaur chicken nuggets in the fridge. Just this night dinosaurs may rule once again - might not be so bad. I like chicken nuggets. Petulant child in me does not want to pick up my toys. Grown man does not wish to cook. Exhale. Stand up. Put down my beer/race car, trudge to kitchen. Shoulders down.


Think about the menu items I planned five days ago. Pizza. I remember that I was going to make pizza, fresh dough, and barbequed chicken on top - the works. Crap balls again. That’s complicated. I’ll do that tomorrow. I’ll need to make the barbequed chicken first anyway.


BBQ Chicken it is.


What’s next? What vegetables are going to go bad soon? I’ve got some green beans that are still good. Too complicated, would have to boil water. I’ve got carrots. Those last forever, and I’d have to peel them first. I push them to the nether regions of my fridge. Heck, I’ve got frozen peas and carrots – microwave ready. Check. Have some little red potatoes in the pantry. Those have almost outlasted their welcome in my cupboard. Chicken bakes at 450 degrees. Potatoes bake at 450 degrees.


BBQ Chicken, Smashed Potatoes, and Peas and Carrots. Still grumpy, but hungry. Game on.


- 3 Chicken breasts

- Store bought BBQ Sauce

- Six little red potatoes

- Olive Oil

- Herb de Provence (it’s a thing)

- Salt

- Frozen Peas and Carrots

-

Take a sip of beer. Center the cook cook. I will be in my happy place soon enough. Preheat oven to 450 degrees.


“How is everything Daddy?” A gentle voice from the couch. She would have been happy with dinosaur nuggets.


“I want to go play in snow. I want to race my car. I want to play Diablo!” the petulant boy thinks. “It’s just fine my dear,” the cook say. “Dinner will be ready in about a half hour.”

Rinse and scrub the potatoes. Put them whole in a microwave safe dish with about three tablespoons of water. Microwave uncovered for ten minutes.


In the meantime, get out a shallow baking dish. Lay down a layer of BBQ sauce. Place the chicken breasts on top. Smother the chicken in about half the bottle. Save the rest of the BBQ sauce for our pizza tomorrow. Rinse or don’t rinse the chicken first. The internets are undecided about that.


OK, in the cooking groove. Better now. Sip beer again. Lightly brush a cookie sheet with oil.


Microwave goes off. Take out potatoes. Hot potatoes. Place on cookie sheet. Smash almost flat with potato masher (or bottom of a coffee mug). Brush with olive oil. Sprinkle each with Herbs de Provence (or garlic powder and paprika) and salt.

Put cookie sheet and shallow pan in oven. Set timer for 25 minutes. Petulant cook knows he can relax for fifteen minutes. Paces the kitchen anyway. Listens to Jeopardy in the background. “Who is Stonewall Jackson?”


9 minutes left on timer. Cook washes same dish he nuked the potatoes in. Adds in a cup of frozen carrots and peas with two tablespoons of water. Covers dish. Starts microwave for 7 minutes.


Still paces. Finishes beer.


Microwave goes off. Timer goes off. Pull out potatoes and chicken from oven. Check chicken temp (in the fattest part of the breast). It at 160 degrees. Good. If not, I’d put it back in. Remove veggies from microwave. Drain veggies and adds some salt and a little bit of butter.


Food on plates. Plates on table. Butts in seats. Real child takes a bite. “Thank you Daddy.” She'll never tell me she likes it. That's not what they do. She smiles. She eats. That's enough.


Shoulders back and a sigh releases the kerfuffle of the world. At least I have a purpose I suppose.


39 views