Bryan and I fight over food on a daily basis.  Bryan is THE most picky eater I’ve ever met, while I’ll eat anything that’s not moving.. and some things that are.  This makes for a very limited dinner menu.  And I’m beginning to miss some dinners that I enjoy and he won’t eat.

One of them is chicken salad.  Mmmm.. chicken salad.

I make a KILLER chicken salad.  It’s no Clementine’s, but it’s pretty damn spiffy.

I was so excited yesterday because I had already cooked all of the chicken to make my salad, I had chopped all the fruit (I prefer a fruity chicken salad in the fall.. mandarin oranges, dried cranberries, grapes, and apples), and I was ready to go.  I had just gonna grocery shopping with my momma, and had TONS of food to unload, when Bryan called and asked if I would bring him dinner to the theatre.

(Lest he get upset, he didn’t ask.  I offered.  I offered after he said, "Boy, I wish some vivacious, beautiful, graceful and talented redhead would bring me some food.")

I said, "How does a chicken salad sandwich sound?"  I’m unloading bags upon bags as I’m speaking.  And I haven’t eaten since the day before, about the same time, so I’m getting a bit tired.  He gets grumpy, I get tired.

"Ech.  I hate mayonaise.  Turkey sandwich?"

No problem, I grumble.  I live to be a short order cook. (I should say that I didn’t mind making it.  I was just getting tired.)

Screw that, I decided.  I’m making chicken salad for me.  And I’m making it now.

So I made a HUGE batch.  And I stuck some in a sandwich for me, and brought Bryan his dinner, and we ate in the lobby.  I hung out for half an hour, then headed back to my house, where I put the rest in another sandwich for today’s lunch.  And I put in the refrigerator.

Where it sits at this very moment.