Snowy as a summa ma bitch this morning, so it was a slow drive to the office… where I discovered there was no power because someone awesome had driven into a hydro pole. So I went for an early lunch, then played catch for an hour when I returned. The power came back on later in the afternoon, but that’s not the most noteworthy part of a day where I was elbow deep in buffalo fingers by 11:45 am.
Near the end of the buffalo fingers, I felt the last one had an off texture. I proceeded to dissect it carefully with my knife and fork and decided it looked near enough to the proper shade of pink to proceed. We’ll see how this plays out tonight. This leads me to a pink chicken story from last year.
I was in New York for work and having a chicken sandwich for dinner. Leave it to me to have a chicken sandwich at a place known for their steaks, but I like to live dangerously. First bite was sound. Second bite was a 4/5. Third bite is where things got dicey. Not close to the right texture, but the taste was right, so I pressed on. Next one sealed it and I pulled it apart to find it was almost completely uncooked.
I’m not one to complain about shit at restaurants, but this was exceptionally nasty. I took the rest of it back up to the counter and showed the girl it was raw in the middle. She asked if I wanted my money back. I mulled that question over for an eighth of a second, realizing that what I was about to reply would be hard to explain when I’d retell the story later.
No, but I would like another sandwich. A different one, I said, still inexplicably famished whilst chicken blood dripped down my chin. I went with the steak. As they prepared it, the counter girl said, Yo u know what, I’m gonna refund you for the meal anyway. Sweet! That’s called the Ryan Spoar double play right there.