The first time I did the dutiful deed of making my then-boyfriend, now-mon mari a roasted chicken, I gave him first pick of its parts. “I like the wings and the skin.” I turned to him and smiled, “Perfect! That is exactly what I never eat!” Moments like these, I am reminded of what different places we come from. Chickens now have nothing but boneless breasts in the States. And I’ve been missing out on all the tasty bits.
Nevertheless, it is my pleasure to present a new series on how very different something can be between Parigot & Chicago. First up, l’hot dog.
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