Handsome, nice body, educated and successful. His name was Jason Winslow and there had to be something wrong with him or he wouldn’t have been left on the shelf, at age forty-five, for me to pluck down.
I mean, Jason was just too good to be true! We’d talk for hours about politics, religion, philosophy, the previous night’s episode of
Fringe, a show we both enjoyed. Even when he was brutally honest, some how Jason managed to take the sting out of his words. Nice right?
Jason was the first guy I could drag in front of my friends and family and not be afraid some stupid remark would come out of his mouth or worse yet, he’d emit something foul from other orifices. Don’t act shocked! We’ve all had that date who gassed up a room so badly you’d have thought an animal had crawled into them and died. I know a few gals, who even married such dates. Hey, whatever floats you boat.
And then it happened. On a rainy weekend in late April Jason asked me to have
dinner at his place. We had been dating for roughly four months. Up until Jason's invitation, our dining choices had been to eat at my place, go out to a restaurant or somewhere outdoors if the weather permitted. This time was different. Jason was going to cook. Jason
never cooked. We had been dating for several months and he had never volunteered to do so before. I was flattered. The only other time a man had offered to cook for me, dinner had consisted of me arriving to find the guy stretched out naked among a table full of food. Needless to say, I passed. Not gas…just quickly back through the front door. And if you're asking, you will meet that fellow in the posts of The Bachelor. I'm not sure if Jason fits in the bachelor category. I'll let the night unfold in this post and you decide.
Jason took total control of the kitchen that evening. I wasn’t to so much as touch a pot, pan or plate. He only wanted me to sit on a stool at the counter, drink my glass of wine, and keep him company while he prepared dinner.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked.
My eyes roamed over the counter. I saw a mixture of greens and scallions and deduced that was going inside the chicken. He even had a small bowl with all the seasonings mixed together that he was going to rub onto the chicken. It only took a few seconds more to realize what was missing. The chicken.
“Umm, Jason,” I hesitated, “Honey, where’s the chicken?”
Jason smiled and kept right on chopping vegetables as he replied. “In the sink. The recipe I’m using said to wash the chicken thoroughly.”
I looked over at the sink and saw nothing but sudsy water. Again I hesitated, “Umm, Jason. What are you using to wash the chicken?”
“
Palmolive dish liquid. The commercials say it leaves your hands soft as it cleans so I thought it would clean the chicken but leave it tender as well.”
I nearly choked on my wine trying not to laugh. Did I tell Jason that wasn’t the way you clean a chicken? Eventually, but not that evening.
Later that night, we dined on a lovely meal of lemon-pepper Palmolive chicken stuffed with spring vegetables, roasted potatoes and
garlic bread. What’s a little
stomach ache between friends right? As we ate chocolate cake, thankfully purchased at a nearby bakery, Jason proposed. It was well worth the duck runs I had for the next two days.
Related articles:
Roasted Chicken with Vegetables (gicrockpot.wordpress.com)
One Pot Roasted Chicken and Vegetables(girlinterruptedeating.wordpress.com)
Lemon and Sage Roasted Chicken with Caramelized Endive(endiveblog.wordpress.com)
slow cooker fall apart chicken (backtoherroots.com)
