I’m thinking of a word that rhymes with “cluck”

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One of the things I pride myself on is my ability to cook.  In fact, I’m a pretty darn good cook if I do say so myself.  Where I lack in fashion sensibilities and the ability to decorate a home, I make up for in my cooking abilities.

I make a mean Tortellini with spinach walnut pesto.  Just ask me.

There is one MAJORLY GLARING exception to my cooking prowess, however.

I cannot cook chicken to save my life.

Being thrifty, I often buy whole chickens or chicken thighs at the grocery store.  (Which, by the way, I miss Meijer so much, it’s physically painful to even think about.)  I don’t know why I keep torturing myself, though, because COME ON!  I should just spend the extra money to buy the pot roast or pork tenderloin instead of causing myself immense amounts of stress related trauma due to utter inability to cook chicken.

I follow all the recipes I’ve read on the proper ways to cook chicken.  I mean, I DO know how to read.  NEVER is it done when it’s supposed to be done, though.  Never, ever, ever, ever, ever!  It’s always that pinkish gray color and when I cut into it to see on the off chance that it’s done, it’s always a bloody.  And then I’m so grossed out, I pass out on the kitchen floor and start convulsing.

The first time AND LAST TIME I attempted to cook fried chicken, it was RAW with a lovely, perfectly browned crust.  I was so pissed, I almost left on a jet plane to hunt Emeril down, because it was HIS cookbook’s fault that my much toiled over fried chicken was RAW.

Not only do I have trouble with chicken on a bone, I cannot cook boneless, skinless chicken breasts without making them taste like a tire.

Needless to say, this is causing me a lot of undue stress.

Am I the only one who can’t cook chicken?  Will I ever learn?  Am I doomed to serve RAW chicken for the remainder of my life?