Tuesday, November 4, 2008

In which I discover rotisserie chicken

Today was not a great one on the core competency front. I lost a lot of time running around. Granted, the things I was running around for were mostly things only I could do (get a flu shot, vote). I also managed to outsource most of the planning for my birthday party, so that's one less thing to think about. But I also spent several hours fact-checking a feature of mine -- if I still had my assistant, she could have done that. I had to check a Post Office box and fax two forms from Kinkos -- again, things I could have outsourced. I really need to get a fax machine for my home office. By the time I was on my way to pick up Jasper at 5 o'clock in order to spend an hour with him before I left for choir, I was tired, hungry, and didn't have the energy to make dinner.

Then it happened. I walked past the D'Agastinos grocery store on 38th and 3rd. The most wonderful rotisserie smell was wafting out the doors. I paused. Then I went in. I grabbed a whole roast chicken from the counter by the check-out for $7.98. Is this a great country or what? I brought it home and Jasper and I had a dinner of chicken and apples. Tasty, satisfying, effortless and -- since there are enough leftovers for lunch -- cheaper than a burger and Happy Meal at Mickey D's.

I realize that the fact that one can purchase pre-cooked rotisserie chicken at the grocery store is not news to most people. It technically isn't to me, either, but I've never done it. Perhaps it's my upbringing, but I've always viewed grocery stores as the province of, well, groceries. You should at least have to stick stuff in the oven if you bring it home, right? I don't think my childhood ever featured a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken from the grocery store. I think the reason that I never wandered over to the ready-made hot meal counter before is that I assumed purchasing such things was wasteful.

But it's only wasteful if I value my time at zero. As it is, purchasing a ready-made, hot meal meant I could simply walk in the door, stick Jasper in his high chair and start feeding him and myself. I didn't have to wall myself off in the kitchen to keep him from opening the oven or reaching for the pans. I didn't have to use any of my limited time with him to do anything but be with him. And so, I'm guessing Tuesday may be rotisserie night more often.

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