“It’s hard to impress me with chicken,” said the man, grumpy and arms crossed. I raised a brow.

“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Watch me.”

Chicken breasts—skinless and boneless, plain flour, olive oil, garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, dried oregano, paprika, heavy cream, chicken stock, Parmesan cheese—finely grated, fresh basil leaves, lemon juice, sea salt, and freshly ground black pepper. The perfect ingredients to make a dish anyone would fall in love with.

I set a pan on the stove, poured in a little olive oil, and turned the top on. Meanwhile, I coated the breasts in flour. Each time I dropped the chicken into the flour, a smoke screen covered the tabletop, like Christmas morning. After the pan got scorching hot, I placed the breasts into the pan to brown. The delicate skin will gradually get crisp as it cooks, just to the perfect amount.
In another pan on low heat, I add the garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and a drizzle of oil. Not too much, not too little. We want the flavors to work together, not separately. A dash of oregano and a pinch of paprika will go a long way.
I pour in the chicken stock and heavy cream. Adding the chicken into this pan, I stir it around, letting the chicken soak and marinate in the heat. I toss in a pinch of pepper and salt and pour in the finely grated Parmesan cheese. The strings of dairy attached and tore from the surfaces in the pan. I cover the fine aroma, for the heat needs to be trapped and the chicken needs to be slow-cooked.
Placing a plate on the counter, I use tongs to transfer the chicken. I placed both chicken breasts on the plate and poured the remaining sauce over. A warm, tasty, weighted blanket for the chickens. I garnish the sleeping chicken with a squeeze of lemon and shower them with basil like confetti.
“Try this, if you will.” I said, placing the plate in front of the man. A waft of the sweet and delectable aroma swiftly plunged into the man’s nostrils. It made him happy, like he was home.
“It’s hard to impress me with chicken.” The man said. He took a fork and knife and softly sliced a piece off. The shine and glamor of the silverware complimented the color of the sauce, the bit of red from the tomato. He took a bite.
Silence fell. The man chewed and placed the utensils down. The taste of cheese, the simple flavor of salt and pepper, and the aroma of basil and lemon all together form a song of taste, a choir of happiness, and a feeling deep down that no emotion can compare to.
The man teared up. He got up from his chair and hugged me.
“Will you marry me?”