The Ugly Chicken

My husband and I were not the types to leave the house often before quarantine. We have our regular shopping trips, and, in the before times, we'd occasionally go out to eat. Well, I mean, I did leave the house for work every day and that's been a substantial change, but as far as going out, it wasn't a big thing for us.

We went to Costco on 4/30, which was the day that the Governor of Idaho confirmed that we would be starting phase 1 of re-opening post-COVID-19 on May 1. Although Costco had already put plans into place to require that shoppers wear masks as of 5/4, I figured that most people in Boise would be more lax. And, it seemed to me, that they were. There seemed to be a larger proportion of people in the store than 2 weeks prior, and a significant chunk were not wearing masks.

At Costco, and in most shopping places, it's all about trying to do your best. You can't control the actions of others around you, and you can't predict that the six feet of space you're trying to give the person in front of you is blocking off traffic behind you. That's actually been the worst part of Costco; we try to wait and give people space and we end up becoming a roadblock as others just go around us instead of waiting and giving space.

So we do our best. We get frustrated. We move on.

One thing that hasn't changed in these times is that my husband and I try to get a Costco roasted chicken to eat for dinner on shopping nights. One week, earlier in the pandemic, there were none. That was sad, but we survived.

So when we got to the area of Costco where the roast chickens are kept, I was at first alarmed to see a group of people around it. Then I saw they were all just standing there, chatting (mostly without masks, tsk tsk), while one solitary roast chicken sat in the case, untouched.

I rushed over to rescue the chicken from their indifference, and when I got close enough I could see why no one else had taken it.

It was, to be blunt, an ugly chicken.

The roasted skin had pulled off of the breast, revealing a rather torn expanse of breast, with little parts burned where the meat had gotten roasted a tad too much. And I almost left it right there, but I wanted normal. And normal meant a gosh-darned Costco chicken, so I took it.

Reader, let me tell you, that was one of the best roast chickens that I've ever gotten from Costco. It was extremely juicy and my husband used the large quantity of aspic in a curry on Sunday night. Sure, it was no looker, but we weren't buying it to look at now, were we? I almost - almost - feel bad about those people who ignored the ugly chicken, and thereby allowed us to enjoy it. But really, they made their own bed when they chose to ignore a food based on its appearance.