The nightmare chicken

For the record, I confess that I wrote most of this post on Friday, February 28th, 2014. I knew this was a story I would eventually want to tell to the world, and now seems like the perfect time to me.

Any girls out there ever heard of the engagement chicken recipe? Yeah me nether, until my friend Danielle sent me the link and demanded that I try it. It's an actual thing; even has it's own Wikipedia page.

"Ok, it's worth a shot," I thought. At that point, I was starting to get a little bit antsy as hell, and the questions from pretty much everyone of "When's he gonna to do it?" was starting to drive me bonkers. 

Here's how the nightmare engagement chicken went down. 

I popped that sucker in the oven around 5:30 pm - it called for about an hour and 15 mins, and I figured Andrew would come over right around 7, perfect timing.

Wrong.

Occurrence #1: Andrew calls at 6 pm, "Hey I'm just going to come over straight from the gym."

"What. No. You were supposed to go home first and shower and stuff, dinner is at 7."

"It's ok I'll just hang out, I'll stay out of your hair."

I knew he wouldn't. I knew he would arrive starving, coming from his workout. I knew the chicken wouldn't be ready, and I would be stressed.

Whatever, I would make it work. 

Occurrence #2: I frantically begin setting the table, putting the salad out so that he would have something to eat upon arrival. In my flurry of anxiety I grab a wine glass out of the dishwasher and accidentally shattered it against the counter, instantly slicing

my left ring finger. 

Blood quickly gets on the floor, counter, in the sink. Looking back (it literally continued to ooze all day at work) I should have gotten stitches. 

So my left ring finger is gushing blood as I continue to prepare for the dinner that is supposed to eventually get me engaged. 

The irony. 

Occurrence #3: As expected, Andrew arrives, hungry and therefore a little crabby, completely unaware of how seriously I'm taking this dinner

"Why are you cooking an entire Thanksgiving turkey?"

"It's a chicken Andrew."

"Why did you shove lemons up it's butt?"

"That's how I'm supposed to season it. Go sit over on the couch."

Occurrence #4: Low and behold, the timer goes off and realize I don't have a meat thermometer.  

"I mean, it looks done. I followed directions to a t, we should be good."

Occurrence #5: I put the impressive looking bird (and potatoes) on the table and cut into. Similar to my finger, blood oozes out. 

The chicken quickly went from impressive to disgusting. Perfecccttt

"Babe I don't think it's done."

"No sh*t!" I want to scream.

I defeatedly put the chicken back into the oven, and proceeded to pout.

Andrew, being the extreme optimist that he is bless his heart, "Hey it's ok we can just eat the potatoes and drink some wine while we wait."

They were red potatoes, carefully seasoned with olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic. I was kind of proud of them. 

Occurrence #6: Andrew, still oblivious, "I know what these potatoes are missing! Hot sauce!"

{Proceeds to douse my carefully seasoned potatoes in hot sauce.}

At this point, I'm on the verge of tears. It's silly I know, and I can laugh about it now, but for about 15 - 20 mins I was teetering on the edge. 

"I failed." I kept repeating, slouching in my chair.

Andrew, having no idea why I cared so much about this random Thursday night dinner, and probably more pumped about the red wine than anything else at that point, continued to be a gem.

"No babe, it's totally fine. It's the thought that counts!"

In the end, even after the chicken had baked for close to two hours, it still wasn't done. We ended up picking out the breast meat that we could tell was cooked, and filling the rest of our stomachs with wine.

After a glass I didn't care anymore. I stared at my left ring finger's blood soaked band-aid and smiled, applauding God's humor. 

Patience is a virtue, trust in His timing, good things come to those who wait. Whatever your motto may be, I personally recommend putting your faith in that over a chicken recipe. As of this past weekend, I've now got a pretty little scar above a pretty little ring as a daily reminder. 

Cheers, we're engaged!

- Kait