Fifty Shades of Chicken: A Parody in a Cookbook by F.L. Fowler Read Free Book Online Page B

the Sub-Zero, marinating in soy and sake, when someone calls to me. It’s the aloof radish from the crisper that I noticed on my first day.
    “Can I help you?” I ask. What could a radish want from me?
    “No. I just wanted to look at you.” Her tone is unnervingly soft. Like me, she’s pale, pink, and skinny. But I can see she’s wilty and faded now.
    “What do you have that I don’t?” she asks sadly. And she fades away again into the crowded crisper.
    My subconscious rises up before me like a green-eyed ghost. Fifteen , she shrieks. Fifteen previous Ingredients.
    I recall Blades’s past. It occurs to me that his other Ingredients have known this marinade, those hands, that burning gaze. I am transfixed by the radish’s piercing question: What do I have that she hasn’t?
    glazed chicken skewers with soy sauce and ginger
    SERVES 2 TO 4
    1 pound boneless chicken thigh meat
    ¾ cup dark soy sauce or tamari
    ⅓ cup mirin or sweet (cream) sherry
    2½ tablespoons sake or dry sherry
    1½ tablespoons brown sugar
    2 fat garlic cloves, peeled and smashed
    ¾ teaspoon grated peeled fresh gingerroot
    Scallions, white and green parts thinly sliced, for garnish
    1   Cut the thighs into 1-inch pieces and place in a shallow dish. Make it beg for the sauce.
    2   In a small saucepan, combine the soy sauce, mirin, sake or sherry, sugar, garlic, and ginger. Bring to a simmer and cook for about 7 minutes, until thickened and syrupy. Save ¼ cup of the sauce for dipping and drizzling. When you think they deserve it, pour the remaining sauce over the thighs, cover, and chill for at least 1 hour and up to 4 hours.
    3   If using wooden or bamboo skewers, soak them in water for 1 hour. Preheat a grill or broiler. Thread the chicken pieces onto skewers and grill or broil, turning halfway, for about 6 minutes. Serve drizzled with the reserved sauce and showered with scallions.

Jealous Chicken
    H e has me spread out in parts on a towel while he whips up a marinade. He likes me arranged like this; it means he can spice me up to his kinky tastes. I wonder how his former flames responded to his overbearing ways, and I feel an unwelcome pang.
    “What happened with the fifteen past Ingredients?” I ask hesitantly.
    He cocks his head to one side and back, surprised. He turns off the blender and gives a resigned shrug.
    “Various things. I suppose it boils down to …” He pauses, searching for precisely the right word. “Unsuitability.”
    He helps me into the bowl he’s filled with the aromatic green liquid from the blender and massages it into my skin. It makes my flesh come alive, but I can’t take my mind off the fifteen. The marinade gives me plenty of time to think.
    When he pulls me out I realize I’ve turned bright green.
    “Who was the last one?” I blurt out.
    He draws a sharp breath and stills. “Beware, Miss Hen, of jealousy,” he intones. “It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.”
    “Did you quote Shakespeare to her, too?” My voice is shrill.
    He runs an anxious hand through his hair.
    “No, she was more the earthy type,” he sighs. “She did as she was told, and I soon felt we had exhausted the possibilities. Now, are you going to let this go?”
    “If you can have nice, pliable Ingredients, why do you need me?”
    “I need an Ingredient that forces me to compromise. A cook who isn’t compromising is not working hard enough.” He grabs the package of foil and tears a sheet off. “You are an exquisitely beautiful bird, Miss Hen. You’re smart, savory, and succulent. You’ve made me change my whole approach to building dishes. Now, do you want to ask more questions, or do you want me to cook you?” His stomach growls, and he smiles that dazzling, predatory smile.
    “Cook me, please,” I say quietly.
    His marinade has worked its magic. By the time he pulls me from the oven I am glowing and mollified, and my green tint has faded—for now—in the golden afterglow of a