What the fuck is this shit???
Is this supposed to make me hungry? Talk about the most unappealing name for an entree I’ve ever heard. I don’t know about you, but I’ll pass on having withdrawals after dinner. Have you ever known anyone with an actual addiction? That shit consumes their lives. The drug becomes their first and only priority, they become shells of their former selves. Nothing else matters, they will sell every piece of clothing they own with the exception of a lone pair of overalls, all in order to get that next fix. And while they’re crying, alone in an alley, sitting in a puddle of their own urine, you can approach them and say, “I know exactly how you feel. Last night, I had three pieces of chicken, and I almost... you’re not going to believe this, I almost went back for a fourth!”
This isn’t even a sensitivity issue for me, it just irks me that people are so bad at describing things. It’s rather bothersome to me. Not only is it bothersome, but it’s also aggravating, incommodious, and vexatious. There are 170,000 words in the English language, there’s no reason to keep saying the same ones over and over again. Switch it up. Keep it fresh. Instead of saying “hungry” say famished. Instead of saying “tired” say lethargic. Instead of saying “many” say Plethora. Plethora happens to be one of my favorite words. It makes me sound mature. My second favorite word to use is demeanor, mainly because it rhymes with wiener. I’m not nearly as mature as probably sound when I use words like plethora.
As far as chicken goes, you could call it scrumptious, mouthwatering, nectarous, delicious, delectable, titilating, etc...
Yet, this lady decided the best way to describe it was to compare it to the high you feel when you shoot heroin. Could she be more oblivious? Could be be more out of touch with reality? This lady is like the Michael Scott of chefs.
Without even looking at this recipe, I can tell you that this chicken doesn’t emulate heroin in any way, shape or form. The same way those cupcakes my co-worker brought in the other day didn’t emulate crack to the six people who made that statement.
“Oh these cupcakes are amazing! They’re like crack!”
Are they? Are they really, Susan? And you know this of course, with all of your crack smoking experience?
The only food-related methaphor more preposterous in my opinion is when people compare desserts to sex. Quit describing that cheesecake as orgasmic. You know that isn’t true. Really? Is that cheesecake giving you vaginal contractions? I’ve never heard of a pastry that has that type of an effect on people. And quite frankly, I can’t fathom why anyone would want to have that reaction. Can you imagine how uncomfortable the dining out experience would be if that were the case. Like, right after you’re done eating at that moment when the server approaches the table, and says something like, “Did anyone save room for dessert?”
Then everyone’s eyes light up, and some people start moaning. You look across the table at your grandmother, and say, “Happy birthday Nana!”
“Now if you’ll please avert your eyes, while I indulge in this tiramisu. Things are about to get weird.
That’s just one of the many awkard moments I can imagine in that scenario. I’m sorry, did I say many? I meant to say, Plethora. Man, I love that word plethora. It’s like crack to me.
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