Friday, March 29, 2024

Cory A. Haywood: A White Girl Cooked Me Some Chicken – My Taste Buds Will Never Be the Same

Raw Uncooked Chicken - iStock
iStock

*It was a food crime. Plain and simple. Don’t judge me.  I know the rules.  I understood the risk I was taking. But I’m led by faith, not by sight. That’s what my Bible teaches.

And even though she pulled a jar full of the strangest-looking meat I’d ever seen from her refrigerator, I still rolled the dice and took a bite.

It didn’t go well. “Do you like it?” The anticipation in her eyes worried me. She was a little too excited.

“Just take one bite, I only used organic sea salt and olive oil to give it flavor.”

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Chickens_in_market
Commons license

After hearing the ingredients she used, I should’ve put the damn fork down.

It wasn’t fried, but even baked chicken needs the enhancements of paprika, garlic powder, cayenne pepper, seasoned salt, and other flavorings.

I could hear my ancestors yelling, “STOP!”

More importantly, I’ve never personally experienced the culinary nuances of “suburban chicken.”

I wasn’t prepared.

I didn’t have a napkin to spit in – she didn’t offer me one. I’m sure that was on purpose.

I also couldn’t hide the chicken in my pockets because I decided to wear basketball shorts that night.

I didn’t even bother to ask her for barbeque sauce, or Red Rooster.

I was trapped. She had me cornered.

It felt like racism.

Raw Uncooked Chicken - dreamstime
Via Dreamstime

Denying the chicken would’ve dampened the mood and compromised my chances of getting her naked.

So … I made a choice … and I instantly regretted it.

The meat was slimy.

It was salty, and still extraordinarily bland. It was skinless.

And she cut it into pieces, mixing the light pieces with the dark ones. That’s a food felony in any black household.

I almost ordered her to put caution tape around her stove.

“Be honest, do you like it?” she asked – again.

I couldn’t summon the words to provide her with a response.

So to buy some time, I motioned for her to bring me a glass of water.

“You aren’t getting water until you tell me how it tastes. Is it good?”

The next few seconds consisted of uncomfortable silence.

Then, bluntly, I answered: “No.”

The sparkle in her eyes quickly dimmed.

She was embarrassed.

I wanted to leave.

Raw Uncooked Chicken - iStock
iStock

“You didn’t have enough … take another bite.”

She plunged her fork into an even larger piece and moved it toward my mouth.

Slowly, I watched as she fed me like an infant child. The second helping was equally bad. Cruelty to my taste buds.

But in the interest of sex, I ate the chicken anyway, even pretended to like it.

My reaction – albeit insincere – caused her to smile with the delight of a white woman who successfully cooked chicken for a black dude.

As I struggled to regain my composure, she pulled zucchini and sweet potatoes wrapped in foil out of the oven.

It was the whitest experience I’ve ever had in my life.

The next morning I received a notification from Credit Karma. My score went up 30 points. I’m certain the increase came from me eating that chicken.

I swallowed white privilege and I won.

Cory A. Haywood
Cory A. Haywood

Southern California-based Cory A. Haywood is a freelance writer and expert on Negro foolishness. Contact him via: [email protected] and/or visit his blog: www.enterthehat.com or send him a message on Twitter: @coryahaywood

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