Young Colonel Sanders

Story Sent in by Douglas:

Tamara invited me over to her house for dinner. She served me homemade chicken in her living room, and it took me about two bites to discover that it was the single worst-tasting mound of anything that I had ever tasted.

"It's great," I lied, after she asked me how it was.

"Good," she said with a sigh, "I tried some new seasonings on it."

My silent advice was for her to stick with the old seasonings. I didn't say anything else, and she went on, "My old roommate left her spice rack here when she moved out. There were some canisters that had hardly anything left."

She took a few big bites of her chicken, then asked, "Does it taste right to you?"

"It tastes… good. What spices did you put into it?"

"Paprika, cumin, curry, parsley, sage, red pepper, black pepper, some brown stuff, thyme, ginger…"

"Uh…"

"Garlic, rosemary, some long thing leafy things I didn't recognize, cloves, mustard seeds… I ended up using up most of the old spices."

"You did, did you?"

She nodded. "Spices don't go bad. I wanted to experiment and make some room in the kitchen. I'm really glad you like it, though."

She ate one more bite, then said, "Whew, I'm full. If you want more, then feel free to grab some of mine."

"Thanks," I said, "I don't suppose I could ask for some soda. Do you have any?"

She said, "I think so. Let me check," and she left the room to go to the kitchen. While she was gone, I looked around for a trash. There wasn't one that I could see, so I disposed of most of the chicken behind her couch, mentally promising myself that I'd find a way to recover and trash it before I left.

By the time she came back, I positioned myself so that it looked like I had eaten most of the chicken in her absence. "I'm so glad you like it," she said again, and once more offered me her plate, which I politely refused.

Naturally, I forgot to recover the chicken from behind her couch. She never contacted me again after that night, and I can't really say that I blame her.