Have you ever been in a restaurant and had a dish that changed the fundamental way you looked at a certain food? It happened to us while we were on our trip to Birubegja. Sure, we had loved fried chicken before, but what we tasted while we were there changed our taste buds to the point that no “classic” fried chicken will ever replace this new culinary method of preparing our favorite fowl…Honeystung Chicken.
Look, I’m not a foodie. I’m not one of those that nearly reaches a state of orgasmic euphoria over a tiny morsel of food, no matter how good it is. You create some sort of design with sauce on an over-sized plate, and you’re likely to have the plate hurled at you with sufficient velocity to cause a massive boo-boo. But I have to admit…this stuff is great!
It tastes like chicken, in ways that crocodile and rattlesnakes do not, and has, well, honey in it. That’s it…that’s all I can describe on the taste front. We became instantly addicted to it the moment we first tasted it twelve years ago when we were on our honeymoon. It was then that my wife decided to find the recipe and create her own Honeystung Chicken. Despite the various recipes found on the internet and tales from old men who live in caves spouting gibberish about “honey-infused fertilized eggs,” no match for the taste has yet been found.
It’s certainly not for lack of trying. By my calculations, which may or may not be entirely accurate, my wife has spent roughly $10.3 billion dollars (equal to the GDP of Guadeloupe) in chicken and chicken-related purchases in her quest to perfect the recipe. In fact, economists may not tell you this, but the recent bad economic news out of China was a direct result of a massive chicken shortage for the General Tso’s Chicken dish caused by…you guessed it…my wife having bought all available chicken.
Still, the effort has, until now, been for naught. Her concoctions, by no means inedible or distasteful, just doesn’t match the culinary cacophony of craving-inducing creativity of the Honeystung Chicken we experienced in the Caribbean. I recall the first few times we attempted to find the “homemade version” of the dish and the subsequent hospital visits which enabled me to become acquainted with the hospital version of a grilled cheese sandwich (which contains a piece of cheese colored cardboard put in between two pieces of hard tack and ignited by a blowtorch). I also remember the calls from the ASPCA who suspected we were feeding our dog and cat some of the less-than-successful attempts at capturing that sweet golden goodness (we had not, by the way…their increased girth was a direct result of my misinterpretation of my wife’s instructions on how much food I was to feed them while they were away on holiday).
The point is, despite the attempts by my wife, who is a darn good cook, something magical has been left out of all the recipes for this addictive, fantastic dish. Its supposed origin (Royal Caribbean Cruise Line) is mum on the subject, but I know they are harboring some alien discovery that makes it taste so good.