Small Moments: The Perfect Rotisserie Chicken

Daily Origami is a way for us to record our off the cuff thoughts, feelings and observations about the world around us. Published every weekday, Monday through Friday.

Ivan here.

Sunday is our designated lazy day. It’s the day we clear our schedules of everything: work, exercise, errands. While neither of us are particularly religious, we follow the whole  “rest on the seventh day” ritual religiously. 

If it’s good enough for God, we reason, then it’s good enough for us. 

The possibilities of doing nothing are endless. We try to sleep in late. When this fails, and our biological clocks wake us up at six thirty anyway, we resign ourselves to a three hour nap in the afternoon. 

We rarely go out on Sundays. Instead, we lie in bed watching hundreds of Youtube videos until the sky changes color. Then Jennie might catch up on her Korean dramas, while I read pulp mysteries where I’m not invested enough to care if someone gets murdered or if the killer gets caught. 

When we get tired of this, and it’s hot in our apartment, we’ll strip down to our underwear and lay sprawled over our furniture like a pair of dead fish, cursing like sailors about how we live in Satan’s asshole and how we hope whoever’s driving that obnoxiously loud motorcycle outside dies in a fiery self-contained crash without injuring any innocent bystanders. 

Mostly, we talk about whatever comes to mind. When we’re feeling really unimaginative, we’ll talk about whatever’s in our line of sight. 

Cue the rotisserie chicken.

Cue the rotisserie chicken.

This past Sunday, we found ourselves talking about rotisserie chicken. As luck would have it, we happened to have one from Costco sitting on our kitchen table. Here are snippets from that conversation:

“What’s for dinner?”
“Pasta alfredo with mushrooms and black kale. We can throw some chicken in there.”
“The Costco chicken?”
"Ugh. You know what I miss? That rotisserie chicken from Carrefour in Paris. The best chicken I’ve ever had.”
“It was a small chicken. Actually, it was probably normal-sized. Not jacked up on all those PEDs like you find here.”
“Speaking of chicken, did you hear about that place on Venice Beach that makes Peruvian-style roasted chicken? It’s like this hole in the wall place. People say it’s pretty legit.”
“How much is it?” 
“Thirteen dollars.”
“For a whole chicken?”
“Wow. Now I kinda want to go get that.”
“But we already have a chicken. It’s sitting right there.”
“Hey, you know that fancy chicken restaurant we never went to in Paris? The one with the Michelin star? What’s that place called?”
“Le Coq Rico.” 
“I heard they opened a restaurant in New York City.” 
“Yeah? How much does it cost?”
“I don’t know.”
“Google how much it costs. Now I want to know.”
“I’m looking at the NYC menu….the cheapest whole bird they have is 98 dollars.”
“Fuck. That’s like $140 after tax and tip.”
“But it comes with salad.”
“Fuck the salad.” 
“Tell you what, I’d pay $200 right now if I could turn that Costco chicken over there into Le Coq Rico.” 

That’s when we started laughing at the absurdity of it all. Thinking about all the chickens we couldn’t have instead of making do with the chicken we’ve got. 

Some days, we catch ourselves acting like overprivileged assholes.