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Like the animal . . . only cooked. YUM!

I think I’ve mentioned in previous posts (or maybe it’s just been IRL conversations) that I’ve learned I need protein . . . lots of protein . . . at. every. meal. Gotta have it!

So I picked up a whole chicken from the grocery this past weekend (no it wasn’t  organic) and proceeded to attempt to cook it Monday evening for dinner. I  forgot the damn thing takes an hour and a half in the oven to cook. Needless to say, my husband had sandwiches for dinner that night. (I had my peanut butter, molasses, raw honey, and dried milk mixture. YUM! Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. It tastes really good and is a fantastic quick meal when I don’t feel like cooking.)

I inhaled some chicken last night before going to pick up the Italian from the pool, Sheltering Arms – did anyone else catch that Superbowl Ad they had? That’s where my beau works out! – by the time I got to the pool it had gone from feeling like I had something stuck in my throat to feeling like someone was choking me.

Not. Pleasant.

When we got home, I crashed and went to bed. I slept in three hour increments waking up at midnight, 3 am and then again at 6:15-ish . . . dragging myself out of bed, but feeling better.

Tonight we decided to try to finish off most of the picked over carcass (the remainders will be going in the freezer for chicken bone broth). There’s pretty much just a leg left, so I think we did pretty good.

But after dinner, and my subsequent home work-out (I can almost do real push-ups again! I can do girl push-ups with ease. Real push-ups are still a work in progress.) I noticed the choking/something stuck in my throat feeling was/is back. The only common thread is the chicken . . .

I’d better not be allergic to chicken . . .

It could also be something that was injected into the chicken. Or it wasn’t cooked sufficiently . . .

Because the way I cooked it was sticking it in the oven, cooking it, pulling it out, realizing it’s only 1/4 of the way cooked. Sticking it back in, pulling it out, still not cooked, putting it back in and finally . . . it’s cooked.

I’m wondering if that had anything to do with it.

But wouldn’t that simply  make me hurl . . . not make me feel like someone’s choking me?

And I had a leg on Monday night (after it was done cooking and way too late at night).  I didn’t have any troubles then . . .

Curiouser and curiouser . . .

OH! For all you cat owners and lovers (of which I am both. The Italian will claim neither!) here’s a fascinating article a friend posted in my personal facebook account. (It explains a lot!!)

Is Your Cat Making You Crazy?

But from now on . . . my chicken is getting cooked in the crock pot (once I get my beef stock out of there . . . ).



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