in the kitchen, cooking, and we're feeling prepared. the pot and pan are in position, the chicken and onion and pepper and garlic and noodles are waiting, let's do this.
first the chicken must be trimmed and cubed so that it can be put in the pan first because it needs more time to cook than the vegetables or noodles. this is a particularly delightful part of the process because the trimmings go to the cat. he loves chicken. a wooden cutting board is laid out and the steel knife cuts through the cellophane package and a hand slips in, grabs the slimy cool wet breast, lays it flat on the board. the trimmings are not in the expected order, this wasn't in the script. knifing the chicken takes longer than expected, it's an unpleasant process full of inconsistent and seemingly random rewards for the cat who looks up at us with wonder and amazement, doesn't understand, could never understand, but he doesn't mind as long as the chicken keeps coming.
finally it is done. olive oil in the pan, more olive oil, turn it up to 7 and slide the chicken off the board into the pan. shower the chicken with a bit of garlic powder, then garlic & herb seasoning, use the wooden spatula with circular holes to mix it around then let it simmer.
next, the pepper. really next should have been the onions but no it's better this way. cut off the top, pull out the nucleus, throw a few of the seeds in with the chicken because why not? and then cut out the inner scaffolding, cut tall slim pieces and then cut those in half, pushing the ever-growing pile into the corner before finally putting the entirety into a bowl to the side. the cat still stares longingly, wondering when will it be his turn? but we tell him he would never appreciate this, he is a carnivore. he does not understand.
now the onion. pulling off the skin is the worst part because there's never a right answer, difficult decisions inevitably need to be made about which level will be the last to go. once the dirty work is done, the tops are cut off and thrown aside, cut the bulb in half vertically, then cut moon shaped slices in an arc from the center. it's done quickly and sloppily, a mistake here will not be costly.
the onions are slid into the pan along with the chicken, the heat is turned up, it was too low before, it isn't far enough along. the onions are going to be softer than we had initially hoped but it's too late now, there's no turning back. oh ****, the garlic.
the garlic cloves are ripped off, another of the least pleasant jobs, no matter how hard we try, remnants of the thin soft crunchy outer skin always ends up scattered here and there on tables and in sinks and on floors, a mess to clean up later, the dishes will be sorted but we're on the hook for "general kitchen cleaning," so we try our best to not spray too many garlic shavings as we gather the necessary cloves.
the skin removal comes mercifully to an end and then the joy of quickly chopping the cloves is ours, thin flat slices are lined up and cut a few more times and then they fly in and oh **** time to mix the chicken and onion and what did we turn it to 9? it's moved up to 10 and we make a mental note to stir more frequently as the noodles are thrown in the pot which was turned up to 11 not long enough ago and we're thinking, this better heat fast.
we take a moment, breathe, stir a bit more, take in the sweet scent of onion and chicken and garlic and herb, arrange water for the table, take out plates, stir the noodles which are softening quickly, nicely, stir more, we're excited, almost finished and everything is looking okay, onions are browning a bit which wasn't initially intended but is actually a nice effect and will go well with the rest of the meal, stir some more, the loud hissing of food on pan tells us to turn it down, we move it to 6, the noodles are soft now and we're pushing them down but they've absorbed all the water they need and the hissing is still too loud so we move it down to 3 and there's still extra water in the pot so we take out the strainer cause **** it we're not doing the dishes, and then more seasoning is added and the pan is moved down to 2 and then, immediately, turned off to 0, and the noodles and vegetables and chicken are scooped onto the plate and we sit and it's good, really delicious, we're shoveling the food in not even bothering to be polite, huge heaping swallows to make room for more food.
eventually things calm down and we glance across the square, through a window, a french girl removes her shirt, no bra underneath, then her knickers and though it's impolite to watch, we think of her stupid french friends singing ****ty french pop the past two nights, we enjoy her body not as an object of desire but as an object of revenge, just as she goes to throw a shirt over her head, she looks up, sees us, gives a look of disappointment but neither anger nor disapproval, she understands we are in the right and she has been bested fair and square. perhaps she will choose her friends more wisely next time. but then, perhaps not. coyly she drags the curtain closed. all is quiet.
meow.
