I’M STARTING TO HATE BOILED CHICKEN

Okay, I know this feels like clickbait, but I promise, it’s valid. I’m aware chicken is God’s best gift to man since sliced bread. I mean—Katt Williams said it best.

"Every time a chicken’s foot hit the ground, somebody want to put that [redacted] in grease… in China and France, in Europe, in Mississippi. "

Katt Williams: World War III (2024)

Arguably, the one meat you can eat across all social groups: delicious, abundant, culturally acceptable, religiously acceptable… and flightless. The perfect proof that there is a God, and He cares enough to let you eat meat.

Now, in all cultures, they serve this delicious beast in different variations: fried, grilled, marinated, with spice on the side, unseasoned (sacrilegious, but some people prefer vegetables), too spicy, low portions at a high expense (now that’s just cruelty)… the list goes on.

I say all this to make the point that it’s high time we move beyond the “boiled chicken” epidemic. I’m not saying don’t pre-boil the chicken to get rid of the blood. I’m saying eating the chicken as boiled… absolutely not!

Tell me why I’m staring at my laptop, happy and hungry, eating rice and the imposter known as chicken… and it starts to taste off. Like, “You was sweet yesterday, what happened?!” I said, “Okay, lemme eat the leg joint”—that’s the base of the drumstick. One crack at it…

No flavour.

I lost my appetite straight up.

Felt like I was going to throw up.

I understand some things had gone wrong in making this one chicken leg. Maybe it was me who did it (unsure, I only cooked noodles this week). Maybe it was my baby brother (false, that guy only touches games and other people’s food). Maybe it was Mum (…no comment). Or maybe it was ordered from some third-rate restaurant (I can get behind this). I guess we’ll never know.

Now, I propose a chicken post-boiled ritual:

• Mandatory marinating.
• Deep grease frying.
• Bless the Lord who made the flightless bird.

Then… eat with gratitude.

Anything subpar to this is an abomination to all the chickens who laid down their lives so you could live a fulfilling one… and I’m not taking the “it’s too spicy” comment. You either eat it or perish.

In the end, some things become relics of a nostalgic moment—evidence of growth and a fruitful understanding. Boiled chicken might have been the GOAT (hehe) at some point, but we’re sending this abomination to the gulag. Yeeet!