Over the years, I've gone to lots of weddings. This means that, over the years, I've also eaten a lot of very dry chicken.
Before my wedding, I used to get angry at marrying couples. After all, I was going through the trouble of buying a gift, getting a suit dry-cleaned, giving up a Saturday or a Sunday, hanging out in a church, and spending a couple of hours at a reception. With all that I was doing for them, couldn't they feed me a little better. How much would a good burger have cost? What about a spicy Indian dish or a plate of lasagna? Would it have killed them to spice up the vegetables a little bit? This isn't rocket science people; in the name of all that is holy, buy a bottle of Tabasco and a bulb of garlic!
When it came time for my wedding, I vowed that my guests would eat well. There would be no banquet chicken, no overcooked veggies. The salad would be fresh and free of iceberg lettuce, the bread would have a chewy crust, and the potatoes wouldn't come out of a box. My wedding was going to be a gastronomic wonderland, and my guests would still be talking of the meal years later. It would be writ large in legend, wherever tales of weddings were told.