by Lilli-ann Buffin
I never thought I would say this, but… give me the bird.
I’m not the only one asking. According to the National Chicken Council, in 2018 Americans consumed an average of 93.5 pounds of chicken per person due mostly to the American love affair with rotisserie chicken. But a council of chickens might be dusting the numbers. I can’t say for sure. I was late to the game.
Apparently, rotisserie chicken became popular in the 1990s. I was a busy mother hen myself during that decade, cooking my own fingers to the bone. I didn’t get into the rotisserie chicken habit until 2015 after my chicks had flown the coop.
What’s in that tender, delicious roasted poultry that causes rational consumers to become crazed? During a recent shopping trip, I placed a hot rotisserie chicken on the check-out counter. The woman bagging my groceries went on in great detail about how much she loves rotisserie chicken. I mean LOVES rotisserie chicken. She eats an entire one for lunch EVERY DAY. The male cashier confirmed the bagger’s confession and added, “You better not try to ask for a piece neither.”
An even more extreme example comes from my closest friends. They tell me about buying rotisserie chickens and becoming intoxicated by the aroma while driving the meat home in their cars. Once they get the birds inside their kitchens, these genteel women tear the hot and greasy meat apart with their bare hands and eat it over the sink.
Each of my friends thinks she is the only one who does this. I am sworn to secrecy, but no need for shame. I am learning the practice is so common that the store might as well include the practice in the serving suggestions. But it does make me wonder: can a product be good for you if it turns civilized women into feral animals?
It’s probably too late for me. I’ve eaten my 93.5 pounds of rotisserie chicken each year. Whatever is in that chicken is now inside of me. Whatever “it” is might also explain why I always seem to be running in circles with egg on my face.
It might not be too late for you. Save yourselves, if you can. As for me, give me the bird.
Lilli-ann Buffin is a writer and blogger living in Columbus, Ohio. She was a chicken for far too much of her life, but now she writes about them and other stuff at www.alloftheselves.com.