The Crack Chicken of Calgary

I may have unwittingly created life, and not in the usual, fun, build-your-own-zygote kinda way. Jennifer and I are on a mainly Keto Diet, so we regularly challenge ourselves to try out all sorts of new and different foods. Last night, I made the highly nutritious dish “Crack Chicken.” What could possibly go wrong? It is a four-hour slow-cooking recipe that literally a “Crack Chicken” could make.

There was no pressure here. It was simple, elegant, and promised to be one of the best chicken recipes we’ve ever made. Instead, I created a semi-sentient blob of goo powered by pulled chicken, bacon bits, and jalapenos held together by cheese.

I should have known something was amiss when I went to get a helping for Jenn. I was sure it pressed itself against the far side of the slow-cooker as if trying to escape. I had the lid in my other hand at the ready in case it tried to scurry away. Is it weird to think of a “Crack Chicken” casserole scurrying across the stove to find freedom behind the fridge? When I was finally able to get my ladle under it, tendrils clung to the sides, and a tiny voice called out, “nnnoooooo.” *fsssllllopppt*

Free from the rest of the dish, Jenn’s portion sat obediently on her plate; it is hard to say if it had resigned itself to its fate, was planning a daring escape out the kitchen window, or was studying its environment and becoming self-aware. I put on oven mitts just to be safe.

“Dinner!” I called to Jenn, the casserole staring belligerently at me as I brought it to the table. The way it moved on the plate seemed to contradict physics; it was coiled and was emitting the energy of ever-growing quantum potential. Jenn better eat this quickly before it takes over Calgary.

“Is it hot?” Jenn asked, looking at my oven mitts.

“Uh,” I answered, sliding the food towards her, careful to keep the table and chairs between the plate and myself. “Nope, just a precaution.”

Jenn looked at her plate, “What the fuck? Is it staring at me?” Carefully she nudged it with her fork, and I swear I heard it purr. I launched into action; there was no time to think about the scientific repercussions, the Geneva Convention, or the possibility of a Nobel Prize; grabbing the Crack Chicken with both oven mitts, I raced to the garburator and hit the switch.

“We could have been a family!” it cried as it churned down the drain; a single strand of cheese clinging to the sink before being twisted off and whisked away. I should probably call the City of Calgary Water Services Department and warn them.

So far, the Keto Diet has not shown any adverse side effects. Every day, we look forward to learning new and exciting recipes.

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COMMENTS FROM ASTUTE READERS

"Still laughing, thanks!" — Laura

"'Crack Chicken' was kinda cute, though. Garburation seemed a tad harsh." — Betty

"WAHT! What did you do to 'Crack Chicken?!?!?' You monster!!" — Brad

"In my house, our safe phrase when we didn’t like dinner was 'Hmmm, let’s order pizza.'. Maybe you’ll come up with a keto equivalent, like 'remember the crack chicken…?'" — Carrie