I arrived in the United States in September 1969 to further my degree in Medical Technology.

The first few months were a dizzying period of adventures and discoveries in the new country.

Television not only conveniently enhanced the experience but it also turned me into an overnight couch potato who could name an ad on the first note of a jingle or the first frame of a TV commercial.

Convinced by the ad for “Shake ‘n Bake”, I bought a box one weekday in November of that same year. I stored it next to a loaf of bread and a jar of strawberry jam on a small pantry shelf my landlady assigned to me.

My landlady’s absence the following Sunday was perfect timing to enjoy my first homemade dinner.

All rested, showered, and dressed for the occasion, I eagerly took the box of “Shake ‘n Bake” to the kitchen.

With the oven heating, I opened the box with measured precision, fighting off the rush of excitement.

I took one packet out.

“Hmm…” I whispered as I felt its contents.

Slightly disappointed at not feeling what I was looking for, I took out another packet.

I still felt nothing.

I then shook the rest of the packets out of the box and laid them in a straight line on the kitchen table.

I then felt and refelt all the packets, left to right and back. I still felt nothing!

Suddenly, I froze!

“Oh, my God! No chicken!” I said loudly. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or die of embarrassment.

I put all the packets back in the box. I wasn’t sure what I did with it, but the kitchen table now empty, the grumbling in my stomach became louder.

I settled for 2 pieces of toast, thickly layered with strawberry jam.

Oh, there were other more substantial things in the pantry, but I did not want my landlady to become suspicious.