Fire and Ice

On Sundays, I usually roast a chicken. On really lucky Sundays, my husband grills the chicken out on the charcoal grill.

It's delicious.

Getting the charcoal going without using lighter fluid is a process. I don't know the intricacies of the process because I'm inside fussing with other things like hoping I have enough butter for the mashed potatoes and making sure my yeast rolls are rising. I'm sure you agree that both are legitimate concerns.

Taking a break from fussing around the kitchen, I popped outside to see this on the back patio:

Fire. Sparks. Pretty. Well, I call it fire. Actually, it's a chimney starter used to get the charcoal going. Then the hot coals are dumped into the grill, the bird is thrown on, and an hour later we have dinner.

Life is good.

On this particular Sunday, life was extra good. We had homemade ice cream.

That's my husband pouring salt into the ice cream freezer. My friend Craig thinks that (at first glance) it looks like my husband is dunking a whole plucked chicken in the ice cream freezer. Craig might have a point. It does look like a naked chicken.

I assure you we didn't feast upon chicken flavored ice cream. We feasted on chocolate and vanilla. With chocolate sauce and whipped cream, of course.

Oh, and those fancy schmancy dessert cups? Those are courtesy of Ball State University dining services circa 1991. Aren't they lovely? Pin It Now!