It’s not easy to feed seven people–three adults and four children who ranged in age from 8 to 14. Yet for a particular season, this was my station in life.
The similarities in taste among these individuals were minimal. So trying to come up with an entrée nightly which was simple to fix and acceptable for consumption by the persnickety clientele was a Herculean task.
After a while, I decided to prepare foods that were pleasant for me to do and reasonable to purchase. “Since satisfying the masses is impossible, let us budget our time and our money.”
And it fell my lot as the dad of this particular group to cook since the two ladies of the household approached the subject as if they were discerning hieroglyphics.
One of my favorite things to prepare was baked chicken.
First of all, I purchased it in ten-pound bags, which cost about five dollars, and then placed it on two baking sheets, salted and peppered the tops and stuck them into the oven at 375 degrees for about an hour.
As you probably know, how long you cook a chicken is very important. If it’s undercooked, it is not only gross, but also threatens to kill you with salmonella. If it’s overcooked, it gets mushy–like it belongs in a jar of baby food.
Yet the skin, turning a golden brown, is not only fattening, but a true delicacy.
My children grew to hate baked chicken–and if you asked them about it today, I’m sure one or more would shudder.
It wasn’t baked chicken every night, but certainly the bird was put to the flame at least twice a week.
So that my children would not grow up frightened of an oven and what it bakes, I occasionally pulled out of the magic box homemade cookies and things like that, so that they would not end up fearing all things baked.
Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) — J.R. Practix
NEW BOOK RELEASE BY JONATHAN RICHARD CRING
A meeting place for folks who know they’re human
$3.99 plus $2.00 S&H