An Ode to Spatchcocked Chicken

(This one is best read with your best Vincent Price voice impression)

O' spatchcocked chicken, so divine

Deprived of breastbone, tail and spine,

Spread in most immodest fashion!

Rubbed with spices, oil and passion!

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Thrust on heated iron grating,

Searing in those juices waiting

To be bathed in sav'ry smoke

Of natural mesquite and oak.

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There, thou sizzled, slowly roasting,

Flavors mixing, spices toasting

While thy thighs cooked by convection

'Til thy skin was crisp'd perfection.

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Oh, the joy! The bliss! The rapture

As the barbecue tongs capture

Thy distended, splitting breast

And I set you aside to rest.

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Dice cucumber and tomato.

Unwrap foil from red potato.

Now the knife! Cut true and steady!

(Tell the wife that dinner's ready.)

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At long last, my fork impales thee

And my table knife assails thee

And my senses know the pleasure

Of thy flavor, beyond measure.

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Ah, my lovely fowl, my chicken,

I am cursed - forever stricken

By a bird that eats its poop.

Tomorrow's dinner? Chicken soup!