I’ve dated a lot of women in my time, searching for that special one who could, well, cook. The closest I came was with Tina Turnbottom. She was a kind-hearted woman, well-proportioned, dark hair, olive skin. But Tina didn’t know a turnip from a tomato. She couldn’t even manage a manual can opener without bleeding.
On the anniversary of our first month together, Tina decided she was going to bake a meal to celebrate the occasion. I got home from work about 5:45 that evening. It was mid-winter, so darkness had settled early. On the kitchen table, a cinnamon-scented candle burned brightly; an opened cold beer beckoned near a small bowl of cheese balls. In the living room, a melody of saxophones and bass filled the air. Tina emerged from the pantry, barefoot, carrying a can of corn, wearing the nightgown I’d gotten her on our second date.
“Enjoy your beer, baby,” she cooed, planting a kiss on my cheek on her way to the stove. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Tina turned the oven on high and sashayed to the refrigerator. Removing two chicken breasts and a box of bacon, she returned to the stove, winking as she walked by. I knew she didn’t have a clue in the kitchen, but observing her sure beat watching the six-o’clock news.
I sipped my beer and munched on a cheese ball as the banging of pots and pans resonated in the candlelight. Retrieving a pizza pan from the cupboard, Tina placed a layer of bacon, followed by the chicken, topped with the remaining strips of bacon and shoved the pan into the oven.
Taking my hand, she led me into the living room where we danced lovingly in the shadows. I was on my fourth or fifth beer when a peculiar aroma crept through the darkness. Tina, thinking it was a bouquet arising from the marriage of heated chicken and pork, whispered, “Let’s give it a few more minutes.”
But I knew the smell of burnt animal fat. And I knew that burnt animal fat meant fire.
They say that out of the ashes rise good things. Once I had the kitchen remodeled, including a new stove, new wallpaper, floor and ceiling tile, kitchen table and chairs, I sat one night thinking of Tina over a beer and a bowl of cheese balls. She had long since disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Her attempt at a chicken and bacon dinner, however, was seared in my mind. The following recipe is what arose from the ashes of that night.
Bacon-Wrapped Chicken Breasts on a Bed of Buttered Noodles
2 medium-sized boneless chicken breasts
6 strips of bacon
1 pound bag broad egg noodles
Butter
Cook half the bag of egg noodles according to directions on bag. When done, drain and set aside. Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees. Wrap each chicken breast with three strips of bacon (one on each end and one in the middle). Lay the breasts in a shallow baking dish (not a pizza pan) or casserole pan. Bake uncovered approximately 40 minutes to an hour or until the chicken juices no longer are pink when poked with a fork. Bacon should be crisp but not burnt. Remove from oven and place breast on top of heated, buttered noodles. Salt and pepper to taste. You can also flavor the noodles with shredded or shaker cheese.
