engagement chicken.

So the chicken, it's not hard to make?

No.

Even I could do it?

Yes. Even you.

You know I'm no good in the kitchen. I've never cooked a chicken before.

I will help you if you're that nervous, but I don't think you'll need it. The recipe is pretty explicit on what to do. It even suggests some good side dishes.

Side dishes? I have to make side dishes? You never said that.

It's just asparagus. And potatoes. He likes asparagus. I think it's an aphrodisiac.

Asparagus? I thought it just made your pee smell funny.

Oh. Well, maybe some people go for that.

I don't think it's an aphrodisiac. Besides, I don't like asparagus.

So don't eat any. Just make enough for him. You can eat more potatoes and chicken.

Will there be enough chicken for the both of us?

There should be. But he should be able to have as much as he wants, just to be on the safe side.

So I make this chicken, and I serve it to him...

And he'll propose.

Just like that? Just from this chicken?

That's what they say.

When? Like how long after the chicken?

I dunno. The magazine says that some propose within like a day or two, but others take a couple of weeks. Are you going to be picky?

No, no, I'm just a little skeptical.

It can't hurt to try.

How can that be possible? That a chicken would make a man who avoids the topic of marriage at all propose?

I don't know, but these women swear by it.

What kind of women?

I dunno. Regular women. Engaged women.

Maybe the guys feel so bad that these women went to the trouble of making an engagement chicken that they pop the question.

You'd think that they would only realize how pathetic the girl was for making an engagement chicken to get a diamond and then break up with her.

You think I'm pathetic?

No, no, no, I was only kidding. It's pork that makes men break up with you. Chicken is for engagement, beef for having a baby, and pork is for divorce.

You're making that up.

Am I?

Yes. And I'm not going to do this if you won't take it seriously.

Fine, fine, I'm taking it seriously. Let's make an engagement chicken.

But, but, well, but what if it works?

That's the whole point, isn't it?

Yeah, but, well, what if I make the chicken and he proposes and we get married and it's all great, but, won't I always wonder whether he proposed because he wanted to or whether it was because of the chicken? It's like cheating.

Are you seriously asking me this?

And whether or not it works, I certainly can't tell him about it. If it works, then he'll know and he won't want to marry me anymore. And if it doesn't, then he'll never want to marry me because I thought I could make him propose by making engagement chicken.

So don't tell him.

Yeah, but then there is guilt involved. It wouldn't be a big deal not telling him except that I've decided to not tell him, like I'm hiding it or something. And then I have to tell him because it occurred to me to make an effort not to. So the second I decide not to tell him, which was about ten seconds ago, I have to tell him.

Fine, don't make the chicken.

But then he'll never propose.

So what is more important, getting engaged or risking looking stupid for making an engagement chicken?

Did you make the chicken?

What? You mean before I got engaged?

Yeah.

No. I made beef and got pregnant instead, and then engaged.

You did not.

Okay, so I didn't. And I didn't make engagement chicken, but then again, I didn't have to wait so long either. Desperate times, you know.

I am not desperate.

You are making an engagement chicken. A chicken to induce engagement. A foul dish to serve to a man so that he will ask you to marry him. That's not desperate at all.

I never said I was going to do it.

You knew you would do it from the minute I told you about it. You're already thinking of what you'll wear and how you'll set up the table and whether a bigger chicken means a bigger diamond.

Really? You think that would work? Maybe I should make a turkey instead.

Just stick with the chicken.

The engagement chicken.

The engagement chicken.

Right.



Engagement Chicken
1 whole chicken (approx. 3 lb.)
2 medium lemons
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
Kosher or sea salt
Ground black pepper

Place rack in upper third of oven and preheat to 400 degrees. Wash chicken inside and out with cold water, remove the giblets, then let the chicken drain, cavity down, in a colander until it reaches room temperature (about 15 minutes). Pat dry with paper towels. Pour lemon juice all over the chicken (both inside and outside). Season with salt and pepper. Prick the whole lemons three times with a fork and place deep inside the cavity. Place the bird breast-side down on a rack in a roasting pan, lower heat to 350 degrees and bake uncovered for 15 minutes. Remove from oven and turn it breast-side up (use wooden spoons!); return it to oven for 35 minutes more. To make sure it's done, insert a meat thermometer in the thigh; it should read 180 degrees, or juices should run clear when chicken is pricked with a fork. Continue baking if necessary. Let chicken cool for a few minutes before carving. Serve with juices.