Dinner: Crusted Chicken Parmesan and Kraft Velveeta Cheese’n’Shells
FUCK. THAT. SAUCE. One whiff of that scent, and I knew it was no good. I already wrote about the fallacy of frozen sauce this morning, but this was worse. Was it marinara, or something else? I have no clue, but it was repugnant. Such a disaster on the name of sauce wasn’t coming near my chicken.
As a result, dry chicken that begs for sauce—maybe I’ll go back for some marinara, even though I’ve been drowning everything in it today. Whatever.
The cheese and shells, my favorite side, were great, as always.
