My husband makes the best grilled chicken in the WORLD. It’s nothing more than Jerk Chicken, which he soaks in a bottled marinade then grills, but I can’t get enough of it. In fact, I’ve renamed it Danger Chicken because I can’t stop eating it DESPITE the turmoil it causes in my stomach. It reached desperate proportions this week, when my own daughters had to stage an intervention.
It all started when friends came to dinner Saturday night. My husband planned to make Danger Chicken but scolded me for buying SO MANY thighs and breasts. I, of course, planned to eat it for lunch the whole next week but my husband pretended not to know this and put a pack of thighs back in the freezer (sigh).
I showed self-control the night our friends came over and only ate one chicken breast. My husband had split them all in half so it wasn’t nearly enough to soothe my addiction but I knew there’d be leftovers. The Danger Chicken came back to haunt me that night though, in the form of stomach pains that made me dream of grenades in my gut. I hadn’t recovered by morning and asked my family if THEY’D had problems that night, which they hadn’t. I told myself it HAD to be the black beans and went to visit the leftover Danger Chicken in the fridge. It still smelled and looked delicious, even with the skin coagulated into a shell.
We had it again for dinner that night and this time, I didn’t hold back. I ate 2 pieces, then picked the bones my kids left behind clean. It was wonderful, and I crawled in bed later convinced that the prior night’s drama was because of the beans. Sure it was.
I dreamt that night that Where’s Waldo was chasing me through a clothing store and cornered me in a dressing room. His disembodied red and white striped arms stretched impossibly over the door and reached for my stomach, which of course was in agony. I woke up yelping, which is apparently how I scream when I’m asleep. My belly was bloated and aching, and I appeared to be about 4 months pregnant. I told my daughters about my dream as I drove them to school the next morning, and said our chicken was giving me nightmares.
“Maybe I won’t eat it for lunch today,” I said.
“Wait, are you serious? You STILL want to eat that chicken, even though it keeps making you sick? Mom! What’s wrong with you?”
I hadn’t considered that I might have an actual Danger Chicken Addiction but I promised not to eat it again as they hopped out of the car.
There were 3 pieces left, but I only heated up 2 for lunch. That counts as TRYING a little, doesn’t it? I didn’t eat anything with the chicken this time, hoping it would lessen the pain, but I didn’t even finish the second piece. I TRIED, of course, to muscle through the pain that tore through my gut with every bite, but eventually caved. I was in such agony that my daughters could tell immediately what I’d done when I picked them up from school.
“Well, at least it’s all gone now,” Emma said, but I remembered that one last piece was still sitting in the fridge.
I pulled it out when we got home and was just about to throw it away when I stopped. I’m not sure why but I opened it one more time and smelled the wonderful seasonings and thought, “I could just eat it tomorrow.”
That’s when Emma caught me in the act. She snatched the chicken from my hands, wrapped it back up in tinfoil and threw it straight in the trash. She gave me a look of disgust and disappointment as she stomped out of the room, but at least the nightmare was over.
Well, as far as she knows. I mean, it WAS wrapped in tinfoil after all and sitting on top of some coffee grounds. It was perfectly unharmed…and delicious.
If YOU want to try Danger Chicken, I can promise you that I’ve eaten it countless times before and had no trouble. Just buy a bottle of the Jerk Seasoning pictured below and marinate some bone-in breasts and thighs overnight. We serve it with a tzatziki sauce to soothe the burn a little (find that recipe HERE).
It is a spicy, smoky HEAVEN, but if it induces gut aches or addiction, don’t hold me responsible. Just call me to come over because I know exactly how to dispose of it.