Sunday, June 12, 2011
I had one of those dreams today that seems so real, it feels like it actually happened. I don't know why I dreamed it, I wasn't hungry when I went to sleep or when I woke up. I dreamed that I was roasting a chicken. I had gotten out my recipe and made a grocery list, just like they teach us to do here at SparkPeople. I had gotten the largest bird I could find (batch cooking, you know, I live alone so one bird is a lot). I had everything all laid out, the spices infusing in oil to baste the chicken with, the oven preheating, the bird washed and ready...I was so proud of myself, standing there, cutting up onions and carrots and potatoes and dreaming (can you dream inside a dream?) of that mouthwatering first bite of juicy roasted chicken. That heavenly aroma. Even in my dream, I could smell it. I had plans for that chicken. Roasted for tonight. Chicken salad with grapes, celery, sweet onions, pecans, and a tasty raspberry vinaigrette on a bed of homegrown Bibb lettuce. Chicken with wild rice and mushrooms. Chicken sandwiches with arugula, Swiss cheese, and deli mustard on thick sliced whole wheat bread. And the grand finale, the carcass, boiled down, succulent morsels of meat in their own broth, with fresh sunkissed tomatoes from my garden, corn, lima beans, okra, sautéed onions, colorful bell peppers, herbs with a touch of cayenne, all mixed into a tongue-teasing, soul-satisfying, belly-filling concoction called, simply, "chicken stew."
Oh, yes, I had plans for that bird.
Then my sister invaded my dream.
I love my sister dearly, and she is a terrific cook. Her specialty is a tender, sugar rolled ham, slow-cooked and basted every half-hour until it is succulent enough to make the angels weep with envy when we sit down to feast on it. But in my dream, she was just being ANNOYING. "You're not going to use that fork AGAIN, are you?" "Do you realize how much rosemary you're putting on that? You don't want it to taste like that, do you?" "You'd better hurry and clean that up, you'll be spreading germs everywhere. No don't use that, use the Clorox." "Goodness, Linda, where's your mop? You'll break your neck if you slip on that." Meditation. Inhale deeply. Breathe in...breathe out...iiiinnn...oouuut. Caalllmm. "For God's sake, Linda, what are you thinking!?! Can't you smell the gas!?!" She and I sniffed all around my stove, searching for a gas leak before I remembered (head slap), I have a gas heater, but my stove's electric. D'oh!
Then something else came creeping into my subconscious. Some piece of information I picked up somewhere cruising the pathways of the internet. All of the people in our dreams supposedly represent different facets of our own selves. So this was me, obsessively/compulsively turning the stove off, on, off, on, off, on. Grrr. I made myself so angry, I woke myself up. NOT what I wanted, I wanted CHICKEN!!! So I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
But it was gone.
My lovely, delectable chicken. I couldn't get it back.
Yet...all's well that ends well. I checked today's ad. My favorite grocery store has chicken on sale. (Happy humming!)