Ever since we've been together, which is going on 15 years, I've been the cook. I was also the dishwasher, until the husband left his nine-to-five job. The husband becoming the dishwasher rates right up there with him not going down the path towards a heart attack, which he was bound if he hadn't left.
I'm glad the husband doesn't mind washing dishes. He likes to say that he is a professional dishwasher. For one summer in his youth (a thousand years ago), he likes to remind me, he worked as a dishwasher at the Oregon Caves lodge.
The husband says he can cook, but I'm still waiting for that yummy omelet he says he can make. This morning, I did get him to help me prepare tonight's dinner. My hands were all chickeny from cutting up a big ole chicken. Not wanting to wash my hands, I asked the husband to pull out a Pyrex container so I could soak some chicken parts in yogurt to make oven-friend chicken. Once he did that, I realized I would still need to wash my hands. In short, with my hands all chickeny, I leaned against the counter and guided him into creating a marinade for me. Here it is:
The Husband's Oven Fried Chicken Yogurt Marinade
(As usual, the measurements are approximate)
6 tablespoons of yogurt
1 level teaspoon of paprika
1 heaping teaspoon of garlic
1 (less than level) teaspoon of turmeric
3 shakes of liquid smoke
1/2 a capful of balsamic vinegar
The taste results: We both agreed—very subtle, then pow! what a kick.
Some kind of sweetness was needed to balance the taste. So, I added the residue from a bottle of honey. Probably 1 tablespoon's worth. "The honey brings out the spices," said the husband.
Tonight, I'll dredge the chicken in a combination of crumbled crackers, seaweed flakes, and black pepper before putting it in the oven for about 40 minutes. I can hardly wait to eat it.