Chicken Chests

Boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Pechugas sin hueso ni piel.

They make an appearance at just about every wedding rehersal dinner, business luncheon, and catered what-nots. You know what I'm talking aobut: The ubiquitous broiled chicken breast that's usually accompanied by wild rice and steamed vegetable medley. I guess they're always served because they're inexpensive, easy to prepare, and just about everyone will eat them.

Except my dad.

He hates them. Absolutely abhors them because they're dry, tasteless and, like I said, seem to be ever-present. Additionally, he adamently claims that chicken don't have breasts, that fowl don't breast-feed their young.

"Chickens have chests," he says.

Dad is president of the local hospital board in my home town in Texas. My dad is a pretty laid back, jovial kinda guy. But as president, he has wielded his executive power by including a mandate which states that boneless, skinless chicken breasts may never be served at any board function. And it worked. They have barbecue, steaks, . . . anything but chicken breasts.

My dad makes his distaste for "chicken chests" widely known. Recently, he was at a restaurant with his two grandsons, my nephews, age 11 and 15. The server mentioned that the day's special was a chicken breast of some sort and both grandsons piped up: "They're chicken chests!"

Last night, Miss Healthypants and I were grocery shopping together and we noticed that the chicken breasts, sorry, chicken chests, were awfully cheap at 98 cents a pound. There were these huge packages of them for about $4.00 each along with packages of the same ones for $15.00 each. Apparently, whoever was packaging them had mashed the wrong button and doled out several big packages of chicken breasts, sorry, chicken chests, for quite a steal.

We snatched them all up.

Now, I have a freezer full of chicken breasts, sorry, chicken chests, ready for healthy meals.

I'll think of my dad every time I prepare them.