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). Continue reading →