My Orange Chicken
“I was on the Greek island of Mykonos… in my twenties and suntanned…life was wide open. I met a handsome artist — a very talented person. We did as you do at that age: we explored life together, in all its facets, including cooking. He grilled fish, freshly caught by a local fisherman. I told him how good it was, and that I knew how to cook, too. I said, ‘If you come to New York, I’d like to make you my Orange Chicken.’ I didn???t expect he’d ever show up.
“About six months later, he did show up. And I did have a very special Orange Chicken in my repertoire, which consisted of smearing orange marmalade on chicken pieces and throwing it into the oven to bake. Eventually, the marmalade would carmelize and get golden and delicious. Add some roasted potatoes and a salad, and life is good… you look like you know what you’re doing.
“Sadly, I did not impress the handsome sexy artist. Though the chicken looked golden and delicious, it was anything but. The dominant flavor was Joy dish soap. Really awful — inedible, in fact! Evidently I’d soaked the roasting pan the last time I used it, but the water had evaporated and the soap had dried, leaving an undetectable film on the pan. I’d plunked the chicken down into the ‘seasoned’ pan, and the rest was history…??
“We went out to dinner (he was my guest, I was the humiliated hostess). As we continued to ‘explore life’ together, I distinguished myself, but not as a cook. Sometimes things in the kitchen don’t work out as planned, but there’s always the next time!”
