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The Best Recipe for Chicken
or
(cooking via remote control)
For Best Results: Discard the feathers. They look terrible on you.
What is your favorite food?
This question has plagued hungry people from the days of cavebear stew. For some reason the person who does NOT do the cooking seems to prefer the dish that requires the most blood, sweat, and tears from the poor idiot that does.
So what do you do? You find a remote control to sweat for you. At my house the remote control’s name is Heyou. Heyou is my twelve year old son.
Picture yourself as you arrive home from work, tired, hungry, cranky, and facing a family that demands to be fed although you prefer to take a nap, read a book, or take pleasure in folding the laundry you washed last week.
So take this recipe and use it until your remote control graduates from college and moves out of your house (or goes on strike). It isn’t difficult if you have the right ingredients.
Materials Needed:
One chicken, preferably dead.
One baking dish, hopefully sterilized.
One plate, also sterilized.
One working oven (don’t let it go on strike).
One microwave, free of metals, dyes, and polishes.
Soap, Water, and a fresh towel (preferably lye soap that eats through tar).
Lemon Pepper (or other seasoning combo of your choice).
Potatoes
Remote Control (can’t borrow mine. Heyou is busy cooking at my house tonight).
STEP 1 :
 Call your remote control. Pull him off his video games and ground him from life until he agrees to perform all the tasks involved in preparing a seven course meal for you, your spouse, cat, dog, parakeet, neighbor’s ten year old who finagled an invitation to dinner, and whatever siblings are brave enough to stick around.
Note to self: Destroy outlet behind video games.
STEP 2:
Tell remote to wash hands, feet, face, back of neck, behind the ears, and any other body part that ever came in contact with anything in the past or might in the future.
Note to self: Remove all non-lye soaps that do not eat through tar because last night’s bites of chicken danced with a mystery ingredient from Heyou’s desk
STEP 3:
Have him pre-heat oven to 300, or 350, or maybe it should be 475? Oh any number will do.
Note to self: Get thermostat fixed.
Step 4:
Have remote remove all non-chicken material from around the verified chicken portions and arrange in the baking pan. Inform him that he may use the spices if he doesn’t try to light fire under your taste buds with them.
He may then place the pan with the safely tucked chicken into the oven and set the timer for an hour or two. If it burns, shorten the time on the timer or lower the temperature. If it bleeds after two hours of baking, buy another oven.
Also make sure he places the chicken wrapping, feathers, hat, hairspray, chicken makeup, and shoes into the garbage. The chicken doesn’t need it anymore and you don’t accept hand-me downs used by deceased chickens.
Note to self: Next time, remind Heyou that plastic spice jars melt when placed over a heated oven.
Step 5:
Your remote may now wash the potatoes and put them on the plate. Then he should set the plate in the microwave, set the thing to nuke the beejangoes out of the little brown monsters for two to five minutes, or whatever seems to work.
Note to self: Tell Heyou that potatoes don’t need to bathe in lye.
Step 6:
Have remote control prepare the soup, salad, chocolate pudding, pretzel bowl, drink table, veggies, and your favorite garnish according to package directions or house rules. After all, he probably eats most of it.
Note to self: Prepare next week’s menu for Heyou to study. He seems to think that cookie dough is a veggie.
Step 7:
Eat carefully. Remember to compliment your remote control on such an outstanding job or he will starve rather than cook again tomorrow
Note to self: Tell neighbor that finaglers aren’t welcome to dinner.
That’s all there is to it. Wasn’t that easy? Now you can take a nap while your remote control deftly prepares all your meals. You only need train him.
Note to self: Add to shopping list-- Heatproof spice containers, more lye, and a new smoke detector. The other one caught fire. |
Scatterbrain Chicken