So, my husband is sick, or at least he is trying to be sick, but his job keeps getting in the way. He only got one day to be laid out on the couch, and has had to work solid since then, as we have a woodworking class in progress.
When he finished work tonight, he crashed into the recliner and promptly fell asleep for a brief nap.
While he napped, I mentally ran through my list of options for dinner. Leftovers are generally on the menu for dinner when we have a class running, as the midday meals are always huge and filling and no one needs anything fancy. Today would be no different. We had one of the class's best meals today at noon, the bacon-wrapped chicken. It came out perfectly today, tender and moist chicken that had first been pounded flat, sprinkled generously with coarsely ground kosher salt and pepper, slathered with cream cheese and fresh chives, then rolled up with slab bacon. It was sooo good today. The dish has gained the nickname of "Death by Chicken" around here, which amuses us afresh every time we serve it to a new class. "This is a little something I like to call 'Death by Chicken;'" I say with a smile, then add, "it might just kill you, but at least you'll die happy." The line draws a laugh every time, so I keep on using it.
So, as I was gathering the energy to get off the couch and go warm up the leftovers, Andy stirred slightly. He opened his eyes, squinting into the light, and asked sleepily, "So what's for dinner tonight--Death Warmed Over?"