Fried Chicken. This morning (after a trip to Jamba Juice) I came home feeling good. Thinking that this whole vegetarian thing was ok. I found a way to make it work. It doesn't even require a lot of thought anymore (mainly because I am ok with dairy; vegan would be too much I think). AND THEN, as I pass the counter to open a sliding glass door I notice a magazine from yesterday's newspaper sitting all by itself on the counter. And on the cover, a picture of fried chicken.
I think to myself, "Hmm, fried chicken. I used to love fried chicken but I am a vegetarian. Boca chicken patties are yummy and close enough. And I AM A VEGETARIAN. I can feel my clean veggie blood pumping so smoothly through my veins. And I love it." (All while I sip on the rest of my delicious Matcha Green Tea Mist with a protein boost.)
So I open the sliding glass door. Fresh air. Birds chirping. My roses looking really lovely. I am at one with the natural world. After all, I am a vegetarian. (Granted only for the last month. But that is a small detail.) Wonderful. I have my comfy workout clothes on because I am going to yoga in a little while. Like Ghandi. I love all living creatures. (Except that stupid cat who lives to shed his fur all over the house.) I breath in through my nose and out through my mouth. Lovely day. I am in God's grace.
Then, I pass the counter again. I reach for the magazine with what seemed, at first, to be very average looking fried chicken on the cover. I think I should throw it away. After all. I am a vegetarian. (And if I were to ever make fried chicken again I already have a kick butt recipe that involves buttermilk and lemon; and that is all I am saying.) Then, upon closer inspection, this wasn't ordinary fried chicken. This was "Dixie" fried chicken. This was "Scott Peacock's Famous Fried Chicken".
WHAT FAMOUS FRIED CHICKEN?! (but wait, I say in a small voice, "Aren't I a........vegetarian?") I love fried chicken. I love Popeye's Fried Chicken. (Spicy with honey to dip it in, please.) I love, love, love Roscoe's Fried Chicken. (No waffle please. It will only fill space in my stomach that could have been filled with delicious fried chicken.)
But alas, I am a vegetarian. Is this the devil's temptation? This must be a supernaturally sourced. The devil wants me to die from heart disease when I am 35. He is playing dirty with the "Famous Fried Chicken". I am sure that is it. So I am going to read the article. (Even though I am sure that my recipe is far superior to Scott Peacock's recipe.) Maybe I can take a short power nap and dream about fried chicken. Then I will go to yoga. Yes, that is the answer. After all, I am a vegetarian.
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