My flat-mate's girlfriend gave him a chicken for his birthday. Not a live chicken, or a fuzzy toy chicken, but a dead chicken along with a good roasting pan, herbs and vegetables to roast it with. She presented it to him after he had been out for a walk in the pan with the vegetables and she lit one of my floating candles as a birthday candle.
This was on Sunday. Today when I came home my flat-mate was roasting the chicken with wine and vegetables. I asked him if he was making coq au vin and he didn't know what that was. "I'm just making chicken with chardonnay poured over it." he said. His girlfriend arrived from work and made much of the chicken. She even licked it."Everybody at my office knows this is roast day!" she said with a smile.
They ate the chicken in the kitchen along with the rice and the parsnips and onions. (I sat in the living room and tried to concentrate on my GMAT lesson on factors. My boyfriend ran an errand. And although I didn't taste any of the chicken (I'm a vegetarian-and besides, this was a Birthday Chicken--clearly a two person meal) I am happily enjoying the smell of roast chicken in the kitchen and feeling that something has gone well.
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