If Loving You Is Wrong, I Don't Want to Be Rotisserie

It occurred to me today, that if rotisserie chicken is a drug, I need to go to rehab. I've had a long history with rotisserie chicken. My mother used to bring one home from the supermarket for my brother and I to tear appart on Saturday afternoons. No squabbling over the leg meat, my brother ate dark meat, and I stuck to the white.

Since moving to D.C., the rotisserie chicken is just the right size for a single lady. I have enough for one meal and leftovers. Although I have noticed that when I buy a chicken, very little of it actually is left. As soon as I get that juicy, steming chicken out of it's little plastic dome, I start picking until there's nothing left but a tiny fowl carcass.

Don't be fooled. The rotisserie chickens at the Whole Foods are total bunk. Dry, barely seasoned, and no crispy skin. The best chickens can be found at Giant. Highly recommended. I ahve yet to break open that spit over at Eastern Market, but from the smell of it, they know what they're doing.

Get out of my dreams, and into my car