Perfect Roast Chicken

"I know how to roast a chicken," Liv insisted, pushing the button for her floor. 

"You put it in the oven and turn it on for a couple of hours. Nothing to it."

"Please." He gave her a pained look. "It might hear you." 

He cradled the sack that held the chicken more protectively. 

"There's an art to these things, Liv. Seasoning, timing, preparation. 

If a chicken's going to give up its life for your consumption, 

the least you can do is have a little respect."

"I don't think I like the tone of this conversation." 

She glanced dubiously at his grocery bag. 

"Why don't we just send out for pizza?"

Endings and Begginings

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By lilivanili from London, UK - churrasco de frangoUploaded by tm, CC BY 2.0,

 https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24564435

For the perfect roast chicken dinner every time, 

try this popular recipe from Ina Garten, 

Food Network's Barefoot Contessa.

Food Network

Red Sox blast 'New York, New York'

In his easy way, Joe picked up the basket of biscuits, offered it to the boy. “Oh, yeah, Mr. New York. Yankees or Mets?”

“Yankees.”

“Not a prayer.” As if in sympathy, Joe shook his head. “Not this year, kid.”

“We’ve got a strong infield, good bats. Sir,” he added as if he’d just remembered to.

“Baltimore’s already killing you.”

“It’s a fluke. They died last year, and they’ll fade this year.”

“When they do, the Red Sox will pounce.”

“Crawl maybe.”

“Oh, a smart-ass.”

Black Hills

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By Waz8 [CC0], from Wikimedia Commons

The Boston Red Sox can "Name That Tune" in one note, or so it seems, as they had the last word in musical taunting after knocking the New York Yankees out of the postseason in front of the home crowd at Yankee Stadium.

As the champagne bottles were popping in the Red Sox locker room after their 4-3 American League Division Series Game 4 clincher Tuesday night, the background music was Frank Sinatra singing "New York, New York," the song that echoes around Yankee Stadium after every game.

ESPN

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The batter dropped a short single into left field, and she grabbed Thorpe's arm. "Oh, look, he hit one!"
"That's the wrong team, Liv," Thorpe pointed out wryly. "We're rooting for the other guys."
She accepted the hot dog and peeled off a corner on the packet of mustard. "Why?"
"Why?" he repeated, watching as she squeezed the mustard on generously. "The Orioles are from Baltimore. The Red Sox are from Boston."
"I like Boston." Liv took a healthy bite of the hot dog as Palmer whipped a mean curve by the next batter. "Shouldn't he have swung at that one?"
"Don't like Boston too loudly in this section," Thorpe advised.


Endings and Begginings