Didn’t you hear? It’s the new cooking show starring none other than… Korlina! We’ll have to see what happens in next week’s episode, but last night was one quality night of television.

At around 2pm yesterday, slouching at my desk (I’ve gotta work on this posture thing) & watching the paint dry, I have a brilliant idea. “Yes, yes, I’m going to prepare the most delicious chicken dish for J tonight!” He has had a rough few weeks at work, what with his office missing a key employee, and him having to take over all of this nameless person’s tasks when J has a trillion and one tasks of his own to deal with, as always. Also, the people at his office (I know firsthand) take him for granted and treat him less than great when Company could not survive without Amazing Boyfriend! It’s time I did something to lessen his stress!

 ”Baked Buttermilk Chicken Breast” is the recipe I stumble upon online, and finally choose after careful deliberation. The girls in my office roll their eyes when I announce that I’d be making a tasty buttermilk chicken. “Buttermilk is waaay fattening!” they proclaim in unison. Being the Korlina that I am, I have an answer. Ah, yeah, one of my worst habits is that I always have an answer… or two or three.

 ”Umm, actually you’d be surprised to know that buttermilk is not fatty. As a matter of fact, I’ve used it for a healthy Elie Krieger pumpkin muffin recipe before!” Damn, I had been practicing and nearly perfecting the art of not being an annoying bitch know-it-all around my co-workers, but I cave. Hey, I’m only human.

After work, once I collect all my ingredients at Ralph’s, I am ready to go! Dinner Possible, take one! What’s that you ask? My cameraperson’s name? None other than Boopy! Okay, I can’t deal anymore. I can’t keep my cat anonymous anymore. The secret’s out, (WAIT FOR IT, WAIT FOR IT) her name is Bette Boop, (named after not the cartoon character, but Bette Davis, hehe!) and I love her to death. She lounges on her perch, focusing like an owl on every pan and bowl I dig out of the cupboards. I simply cannot help wanting to end this cooking thing, shower Bette with kisses (she LOVES the kisses!), and catch up on my American Idol on TiVo.

The nice, relaxing picture I have in my head of “Korlina and Bette’s Relaxing Night” transforms into a cloud of smoke when I am transported back to reality. I’m Korlina, a girl of her word (I had already told J he’d be getting chicken breast for dinner), and a girl who never leaves a thing incomplete. No, not ever.

Shit, I don’t know what I’m doing. For such a basic recipe I have many questions. Oh, and another thing about moi? I may have a lot of answers fo shizzle, but I also keep a lot of questions in my back pocket for when, ya know, I don’t know what I’m doing in the kitchen for instance! Additionally, I’m a baker, not a cook. Moreover, MUST ASK ANNE!

Geeze, Louise, she’s probs still at work. Must send text. Anne, you must respond. What a friend, she responds instantly. If I have not slipped it into any blogs yet, I HAVE THE BEST FRIENDS EVA! Okay, phew, I don’t have to wash the chicken. I only have to keep washing my hands. I am a master of that naturally, thanks to my mom. That’s awesome because I didn’t wanna wash the chicken anyway.

J is home with that exhausted look on his face that always accompanies post hellish workday, but that will be a thing of the past when he tastes my scrumptious meal. Oh, I’m making roasted potatoes as well, the fancy pants edition. Bette Boop, keep the tape rolling!

As J goes into the bedroom to change into cozy post hellish workday clothes, I realize I have to get a move on (shit, he’s home. no more dilly dallying… touch the fucking chicken already!). I tentatively poke at the gross chicken. I dread touching raw food. Stop it, Korlina, pick it up, you bitch!

Here goes… I throw a breast into the buttermilk bowl, and roll the slimy pink stuff around. Tummy, don’t get weak on me now! Stay strong! Moving on, time to toss chicken around in flour. Mission accomplished. See, I can do this! Move over Martha Stewart, and make room for Korlina!

Hmm, wait. Yikes, I’m stumped. Do I put the chicken in a glass baking dish? Can a stove at 425 degress handle that sort of intensity? Time to call Anne… again. Damn-it, no answer. Time to call Bri. Wahoo, I get through. Cool, she assures me that you can put glass in the stove. “Thanks, Bri,” I exclaim, excited to finally put the chicken in the oven.

Now I need a pan to start on the roasted potatoes. Ah, the pull-out drawer below the stove has many stashed pots and pans. Why didn’t I think of that before? Must start restricting my alcohol consumption in order to restore short term memory. I reach for the handle of a pan below. Ouch, ouch, shit, shit, ouch, ouch, shit, shit, shit. OUCH!

Poor J comes running towards me in the kitchen. I just stare in shock at my hand. J guides my paralyzed hand under the cold sink water. “I wasn’t thinking that the oven would make those pots and pans so damn HOT.” He shoots me a “What? Are you insane?” look that makes me want to never make him dinner again, BUT the feeling subsides when I snap out of it and watch his hand on my wrist, making sure I don’t have third degree burns. I survived, thanks in part to J, who puts up with my bouts of stupidity. Must start restricting alcohol consumption in order to restore short term memory. Amen.

Somehow (okay, after nearly 2 hours in the kitchen striving to make everything as perfect as humanly possible) dinner is a success! Dinner is possible! J pours some wine, and I set the lovely chicken and potato filled plates on the table. Ahhh, it feels nice to sit down, to sip some wine, and then… to see J take the first bite of his chicken, close his eyes, and moan in that “that tastes so yummy” kinda way. The slaving away in the kitchen, burning my fingers, and making annoying phone calls to friends re:cooking pays off!

So tune in next week when Korlina makes mushroom chicken! Oh, no, I promise I will only devote a sentence or two. It won’t take up my whole freakin’ post. I need more material… but at least it was a story with a happy, positive ending