To me, every house I have lived in, though close geographically, has seemed so much like a different world. My life begins, after a while, to resemble a series of postcards sent by different women from the same location. In the life of a migrant, time periods are measured by fleeting things such as houses, haircuts, and heartbreaks. And of course, the meals cooked and consumed, gratefully, throughout it all.
I find myself currently in a transient state, where things are shifting from dream to reality very quickly, and though the end is in sight, the journey is daunting. I have wanted to blog- have thought about it, and started to, many times- but I'm afraid I have been unsuccessful. I owe you the best- you who choose to read- and I don't want to short shift you, so I must announce my hiatus. I will return- in May.
I hope, very sincerely, to see you then.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Don't serve it with a sandwich
For years, I hated any and all cold savory foods. Ice cream and certain pies could be cold if they wanted to be, but if it in any way involved salt, cheese, or especially meat, it must be hot or I wanted no part of it. And I do still feel that hot food should be hot, as in very hot,tongue-scorching hot, not lukewarm. A cousin of mine and I once had a joke that I would be a tiny eighty year old woman shouting "PIPING HOT OR NOT AT ALL!!" at the alarmed waiter taking my order of a bowl of soup in a restaurant.
Things have changed, in that way that they do, and my palate has expanded, in that way that it (thankfully) does. Now, I not only no longer scorn cold food with the fire of a thousand suns, I embrace it and crave it all the time. Chicken salad, tuna salad, deviled eggs, potato salad, and what general consensus presents as the most hated cold food of all: pasta salad.
Pasta salad, like regular hot pasta, is an excellent pantry-clearer and leftover user-upper, and if done right is darn tasty, too. I have two basic kinds of pasta salad I make: a vinegary version loaded with large, chunky vegetables and kidney beans, and a creamier version with tiny chopped vegetables and cheese. Both are delicious. Both are pretty to look at. And both absolutely, positively rely on the homemade dressing for their scrumptiousness.
The one I'd like to share today is the creamy tiny-veggie and cheese variety. It's so simple that it almost makes me a little ill, and so delicious that you will eat it until you are a little ill, too.
I'm sure you know how to boil pasta to al dente, so I won't waste your time or mine explaining it, but I must stress that you do not want to overcook your noodles or it will result in a silly mushy mess that will not be appetizing. Tri-color rotini are my preference- the creamy dressing clings to the ridges and they look so pretty! But feel free to use penne, rigatoni, or even plain old elbow mac. Once you've got your noodles going, go ahead and prep your cheese and veggies.
I had some picky eaters on my hands the night I was making this pasta salad, so as you can see here I only used green bell pepper and carrot. Very nearly mince the pepper; I personally love big chunks of pepper, but for some reason, the tiny pieces are just better in this. Shred the carrot the same size as the cheese. This picture hopefully shows the proportions that are so helpful in this sort of slapdashery: about twice as much cheese as veggies. The cheese pictured here is extra sharp cheddar. Colby Jack is perfectly acceptable too. But save your artisanal cheeses for a place they can really shine, not get masked by a dressing.
Assembly is mind-numbingly easy: mix drained cooled pasta with veggies, cheese, and enough creamy dreamy dressing to completely coat and moisten. The serving of pasta salad, however, is a bit trickier and often botched. First of all, don't serve it with a sandwich. This is an American fallacy that confuses me to no end- why serve a starch side-dish with something involving bread? Serve it with a simple salad, or with fried chicken, or- as I cannot seem to stop doing lately- topped with a scoop of chunk albacore tuna. And there you have it. Lunch, or a light dinner. Provided, of course, that you have no objection to cold savory foods.
Creamy Italian Vinaigrette
This dressing is my standard dressing for this version of pasta salad, but it is equally delicious as a green salad dressing, and marvelous tossed with boiled red potatoes and chives for a tangy potato salad. Excellent for crudites platters or as a tasty spread for a ripe tomato sandwich.
These measurements will make enough dressing for about a half a box of pasta. Double or divide to fit your needs. And as always, the seasonings are all about you, baby.
1 cup mayonnaise (Duke's is the best, I wouldn't steer you wrong)
3 tbsp red wine or apple cider vinegar (I used apple cider because I had it and I like it)
1 tsp Italian seasoning
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
2 tsp salad or good olive oil
1 tsp sugar
Blend all ingredients in a blender, food processor, or simply with a whisk in a metal bowl. You will want to blend it for several minutes in order to create the necessary emulsion between the lipids and acids (ie, mayo, oil, and vinegar). Taste for seasonings; salt is the most common thing that needs to be added, and can vary a great deal based on what kind of mayonnaise you use.
Option: Lemon juice can be substituted for the vinegar if you like, and makes an excellent sauce for a chilled asparagus salad.
Things have changed, in that way that they do, and my palate has expanded, in that way that it (thankfully) does. Now, I not only no longer scorn cold food with the fire of a thousand suns, I embrace it and crave it all the time. Chicken salad, tuna salad, deviled eggs, potato salad, and what general consensus presents as the most hated cold food of all: pasta salad.
Pasta salad, like regular hot pasta, is an excellent pantry-clearer and leftover user-upper, and if done right is darn tasty, too. I have two basic kinds of pasta salad I make: a vinegary version loaded with large, chunky vegetables and kidney beans, and a creamier version with tiny chopped vegetables and cheese. Both are delicious. Both are pretty to look at. And both absolutely, positively rely on the homemade dressing for their scrumptiousness.
The one I'd like to share today is the creamy tiny-veggie and cheese variety. It's so simple that it almost makes me a little ill, and so delicious that you will eat it until you are a little ill, too.
I'm sure you know how to boil pasta to al dente, so I won't waste your time or mine explaining it, but I must stress that you do not want to overcook your noodles or it will result in a silly mushy mess that will not be appetizing. Tri-color rotini are my preference- the creamy dressing clings to the ridges and they look so pretty! But feel free to use penne, rigatoni, or even plain old elbow mac. Once you've got your noodles going, go ahead and prep your cheese and veggies.
Assembly is mind-numbingly easy: mix drained cooled pasta with veggies, cheese, and enough creamy dreamy dressing to completely coat and moisten. The serving of pasta salad, however, is a bit trickier and often botched. First of all, don't serve it with a sandwich. This is an American fallacy that confuses me to no end- why serve a starch side-dish with something involving bread? Serve it with a simple salad, or with fried chicken, or- as I cannot seem to stop doing lately- topped with a scoop of chunk albacore tuna. And there you have it. Lunch, or a light dinner. Provided, of course, that you have no objection to cold savory foods.
Creamy Italian Vinaigrette
This dressing is my standard dressing for this version of pasta salad, but it is equally delicious as a green salad dressing, and marvelous tossed with boiled red potatoes and chives for a tangy potato salad. Excellent for crudites platters or as a tasty spread for a ripe tomato sandwich.
These measurements will make enough dressing for about a half a box of pasta. Double or divide to fit your needs. And as always, the seasonings are all about you, baby.
1 cup mayonnaise (Duke's is the best, I wouldn't steer you wrong)
3 tbsp red wine or apple cider vinegar (I used apple cider because I had it and I like it)
1 tsp Italian seasoning
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
2 tsp salad or good olive oil
1 tsp sugar
Blend all ingredients in a blender, food processor, or simply with a whisk in a metal bowl. You will want to blend it for several minutes in order to create the necessary emulsion between the lipids and acids (ie, mayo, oil, and vinegar). Taste for seasonings; salt is the most common thing that needs to be added, and can vary a great deal based on what kind of mayonnaise you use.
Option: Lemon juice can be substituted for the vinegar if you like, and makes an excellent sauce for a chilled asparagus salad.
Redemption
Chicken, chicken, chicken. Constantly we are bombarded with it: fried chicken, Chic-fil-A, chicken chow mein. Tyson frozen chicken patties. At times, I feel as though I never want to eat anything with feathers, ever again. La poulet est tres barbant. Give me your steaks, your pork loins, your escargots, but heaven deliver me from chicken.
And then I am reminded, or gently nudged, in the direction of something wonderful, so simply and elegantly delicious, that renews my love for chicken and the French in one go.
As it turns out, I love both chicken and the French very, very much.
I am a loyal reader of the New York based blog Smitten Kitchen, and find every recipe and anecdote to be more delightful than the last. So when she recently posted a recipe for roast chicken with dijon sauce, the idea stuck in my head and I began craving a flavor profile intensely. My end result is absolutely nothing like the dish that inspired it- it's braised, first of all, and the sauce is made during the cooking, not after- but boy, was it delicious. This is my braised version of Chicken Dijon, classic French country food, which never fails to excite me. And it was an excellent excuse to use copious amounts of The Only mustard: Maille Dijon, in HOT.
I started with split chicken breasts, which, being abnormally large, I chopped in half once more with a meat cleaver. Next time, however, I will DEFINITELY use thighs, just because I like 'em, but you can certainly use whatever pieces you prefer, or butcher a whole chicken and use all of it. I would stick to a bone-in cut, however, because if there's one thing my grandmother taught me, bones just braise better. The flavor will be richer, and the sauce will have more body.
The chicken itself I seasoned simply with salt and pepper, then seared in batches in a large roasting pan with olive oil. Go for brown here: You're not looking to cook the chicken, but to create a beautiful brown skin. Remove the chicken to a plate, then add some butter and sautee your aromatics; in this case, onion and garlic. Sprinkle with a tablespoon of flour and let that cook for about a minute so your sauce will be nice and thick. Deglaze with some chicken broth, then stir in a couple of LARGE spoonfuls of dijon. I would wager I used about a third a cup, or a half of one of the little fancy dijon jars. Don't fret about using so much of an expensive product; fine mustards lose their potency after a couple of months anyway, and if you don't use it, it will just result in an inferior product later!
Now that you've got the star of the show on stage, add some herbs- I love thyme and rosemary- and some more salt and pepper. Return the chicken to the pan, along with chopped carrots, and potatoes or other root vegetables if you'd like. (I only had carrots, so I only used carrots.) Then cover and place in a 300F oven for a very long time- about two hours, uncovering for the last thirty minutes to crisp the skin a bit.
Now, here is where the magic happens: When you remove your pan from the oven, checking the chicken with two forks for doneness and fall off the bone tenderness, stir in about one cup of cream or half and half. Cream, obviously, is more desirable, because cream is always more desirable, but if you're like me and you drink coffee every day with half and half and that's what you have on hand- then go for it. Gently nudge the cream around the chicken and vegetables to incorporate it into the sauce, then please, please serve. Rice or another starchy side dish will come in quite handy for soaking up all the delightful juices.
Your house will smell heavenly. Your mouth will water. And maybe, just maybe, you'll decide chicken deserves another chance.
Even if you're not so sure about the French.
And then I am reminded, or gently nudged, in the direction of something wonderful, so simply and elegantly delicious, that renews my love for chicken and the French in one go.
As it turns out, I love both chicken and the French very, very much.
I am a loyal reader of the New York based blog Smitten Kitchen, and find every recipe and anecdote to be more delightful than the last. So when she recently posted a recipe for roast chicken with dijon sauce, the idea stuck in my head and I began craving a flavor profile intensely. My end result is absolutely nothing like the dish that inspired it- it's braised, first of all, and the sauce is made during the cooking, not after- but boy, was it delicious. This is my braised version of Chicken Dijon, classic French country food, which never fails to excite me. And it was an excellent excuse to use copious amounts of The Only mustard: Maille Dijon, in HOT.
The chicken itself I seasoned simply with salt and pepper, then seared in batches in a large roasting pan with olive oil. Go for brown here: You're not looking to cook the chicken, but to create a beautiful brown skin. Remove the chicken to a plate, then add some butter and sautee your aromatics; in this case, onion and garlic. Sprinkle with a tablespoon of flour and let that cook for about a minute so your sauce will be nice and thick. Deglaze with some chicken broth, then stir in a couple of LARGE spoonfuls of dijon. I would wager I used about a third a cup, or a half of one of the little fancy dijon jars. Don't fret about using so much of an expensive product; fine mustards lose their potency after a couple of months anyway, and if you don't use it, it will just result in an inferior product later!
Now that you've got the star of the show on stage, add some herbs- I love thyme and rosemary- and some more salt and pepper. Return the chicken to the pan, along with chopped carrots, and potatoes or other root vegetables if you'd like. (I only had carrots, so I only used carrots.) Then cover and place in a 300F oven for a very long time- about two hours, uncovering for the last thirty minutes to crisp the skin a bit.
Now, here is where the magic happens: When you remove your pan from the oven, checking the chicken with two forks for doneness and fall off the bone tenderness, stir in about one cup of cream or half and half. Cream, obviously, is more desirable, because cream is always more desirable, but if you're like me and you drink coffee every day with half and half and that's what you have on hand- then go for it. Gently nudge the cream around the chicken and vegetables to incorporate it into the sauce, then please, please serve. Rice or another starchy side dish will come in quite handy for soaking up all the delightful juices.
Even if you're not so sure about the French.
Winging it
Being of half-Czech descent (my father immigrated at the age of 11), I have been treated to an interesting set of cultural divides, dissimilarities, and full-on clashes. Some of these- many of these, really- have been food related, ranging from the mildly amusing (my father has been known to call a Whopper a WHOOPER) to the downright disgusting (such as a bizarre, boiled potato and raw flour dish finished with poppyseeds).
However, at least two good things have come out of this Anglo merging. The first is fruit dumplings, a delicious conglomeration of dough, fresh fruit, cottage cheese, powdered sugar, and melted butter. I have yet to attempt to make these, though I think about it. Often.
And the second is schnitzel.
Already, I can hear those of your with Eastern European backgrounds licking your lips. Schnitzel is as simple as you can get, and definitely a peasant dish- the Czech or German version of southern fried chicken. But served piping hot with lemon wedges and a salad, you'll find yourself wondering why you ever wanted anything but simple.
This is not an occasion that calls for a recipe. I have been experimenting with transcribing recipes down for you type-A people, but honestly it really isn't in my blood. For more particular recipes I will write down a full account, but this is not one of those. I never measure or follow recipes myself, with the exception of one kitchen staple that consistently, embarrassingly eludes me if I don't: rice.
So here are your basics: Pound some chicken breasts pretty thin, about a quarter to a half inch thick. You need to set up a breading station. The above picture illustrates the ideal way, to move chronologically into the pan: Egg, flour, skillet. Before you begin breading, heat a half inch of oil over medium to medium high heat in a large skillet, cast iron if you've got it. I used canola oil, but you can certainly use peanut or another blend, though olive oil would be a bit overpowering of the simple flavor of the schnitzel.
Salt and pepper the chicken breasts, and salt and pepper the flour as well. Stir in a little paprika, too, for good measure. Start with two beaten eggs, mixed with a splash of milk, maybe a tablespoon? Again, no measuring necessary! Trust me, you won't mess this up.
So here we go: Dip the chicken in the egg, thoroughly coating, then each side into the flour, then into the hot oil! The oil should DEFINITELY immediately sizzle when you drop the chicken in. Cook each piece until golden brown and done through, about three minutes on each side.
Then you're done! Just drain them on paper towels, and place on a baking sheet to keep warm in a low oven (200F) if you're not serving immediately. Though why anyone wouldn't want to eat them immediately baffles me. This is vital: Serve with a wedge of fresh lemon for squeezin'. Who doesn't like a little squeezin' now and then?
So there you have it. Schnitzel just like my dad grew up eating, and that your dad will probably like, too. And trust me, you're fine winging it. I have faith in you.
However, at least two good things have come out of this Anglo merging. The first is fruit dumplings, a delicious conglomeration of dough, fresh fruit, cottage cheese, powdered sugar, and melted butter. I have yet to attempt to make these, though I think about it. Often.
And the second is schnitzel.
Already, I can hear those of your with Eastern European backgrounds licking your lips. Schnitzel is as simple as you can get, and definitely a peasant dish- the Czech or German version of southern fried chicken. But served piping hot with lemon wedges and a salad, you'll find yourself wondering why you ever wanted anything but simple.
So here are your basics: Pound some chicken breasts pretty thin, about a quarter to a half inch thick. You need to set up a breading station. The above picture illustrates the ideal way, to move chronologically into the pan: Egg, flour, skillet. Before you begin breading, heat a half inch of oil over medium to medium high heat in a large skillet, cast iron if you've got it. I used canola oil, but you can certainly use peanut or another blend, though olive oil would be a bit overpowering of the simple flavor of the schnitzel.
Salt and pepper the chicken breasts, and salt and pepper the flour as well. Stir in a little paprika, too, for good measure. Start with two beaten eggs, mixed with a splash of milk, maybe a tablespoon? Again, no measuring necessary! Trust me, you won't mess this up.
So here we go: Dip the chicken in the egg, thoroughly coating, then each side into the flour, then into the hot oil! The oil should DEFINITELY immediately sizzle when you drop the chicken in. Cook each piece until golden brown and done through, about three minutes on each side.
Then you're done! Just drain them on paper towels, and place on a baking sheet to keep warm in a low oven (200F) if you're not serving immediately. Though why anyone wouldn't want to eat them immediately baffles me. This is vital: Serve with a wedge of fresh lemon for squeezin'. Who doesn't like a little squeezin' now and then?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
This is not a recipe.
I just needed to show you this beautiful sandwich.
Leftover prime rib roast, sliced thin, on sourdough, topped with provolone, melted until the broiler, swiped with a quick dab of Duke's (the ONLY mayonnaise) and served with a seriously killer au jus.
Oh, memories.
Oh, memories.
Make Up Your Mind, Paula
I've been having some trouble with recipes lately.
I'm not a recipe person, generally. I'm a little-of-this, little-of-that, just-eyeball-it person. I know there are you analytical types who like things to be clear and defined, but that has just never been my style. That being said, sometimes you taste a dish that is so wonderful, so perfectly prepared that you don't want one modicum of difference to occur when you attempt to recreate it.
And that's exactly the sort of feeling I had about Paula Deen's Chicken Pot Pie. My mother had made it some time ago, and it clearly was the only contender for the title of Best Chicken Pot Pie, Ever. It had the distinctions of being made with heavy cream and, instead of a traditional pie crust, it was topped with lattice-woven puff pastry. Yes, PUFF PASTRY. Isn't life grand?
Naturally, when a craving set in for Paula Deen's Chicken Pot Pie, I called my mother for instructions, who is much more accessible than Paula. It had been quite some time since she had made it, and had only a vague recollection of how to go about it. Normally that would be enough; my mother is quite adept at improvising. But this pie was so perfect, so complete, that I didn't want to take any chances. I decided to look up the recipe.
Imagine my befuddlement, then, when upon searching in Paula's Lady and Sons Cookbook, the chicken pot pie recipe I found used pie crust, not puff pastry, and no cream at all. Plus, it contained two cans of condensed soup! That sort of thing would have never been in my mother's kitchen, and it certainly would not be in mine, either. (We both feel pretty strongly about preservatives and sodium.) I determined there must be in existence another Paula Deen Chicken Pot Pie recipe, and a quick Google search confirmed this. I found two more recipes, both on the Food Network site. Only one mentioned puff pastry and cream, so I figured that must be the one. A quick print out, a gathering of materials, and I was ready for some pie making.
During this process, however, I noticed there seemed to be some... holes in the recipe. Things just weren't quite adding up. Like the fact that it called for three quarters of a cup of chicken base. (Just half that amount would be unbearably salty.) The fact that you are instructed to pour raw onions and garlic into a soupy mixture that will only be cooked until "warmed through." I don't know about you, but I don't care to bite into any chunks of raw garlic.
I won't bore you with the details of every minute frustration that entailed in the transpiring of this recipe. I will, instead, give you what I consider the best bits of all of the different versions I found of this pot pie, along with a few common sense adjustments, in hopes that you will learn this lesson the easy way: Basic kitchen skills are far more useful than recipes.
Chicken Pot Pie
Adapted from several versions of Paula Deen's original recipe
1 large sheet frozen puff pastry
1 egg, beaten
3 or 4 chicken breast halves
2 tablespoons cooking oil
1/3 cup butter
2/3 cup all-purpose flour
3 cups heavy cream
1 1/2 cups chicken broth
3 or 4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 small yellow onion, minced
1 bag frozen peas and carrots, boiled or steamed soft
1/8 tsp grated nutmeg (fresh is sooooo good)
Salt and pepper
1. Preheat oven to 425F. Drizzle a little oil onto chicken breasts and generally season them with salt and pepper. Bake until cooked through, about one hour. When cooked chicken has cooled, remove the skin and discard (read: eat), then shred or chop the meat into bite sized pieces. Set aside.
2. In a large pot or dutch oven, heat 2 tbsp oil over medium high heat. Add the onions and cook until translucent. Sprinkle lightly with salt, then add garlic and cook a little more. Onions and garlic should both be quite soft.
3. When your onions are done, add the 2/3 cup butter and allow to melt, then stir in flour. You're making a roux here- you should have a thick, velvety liquid at the bottom with the onions and garlic immersed in it. Lower the heat to medium low and cook for about four or five minutes, stirring, until the roux is golden but not brown. Add heavy cream and whisk vigorously, turning your roux into a bechamel, which is the mother of all creamy sauces.
4. Add the chicken, cooked carrots and peas, generous salt and pepper, and nutmeg. Simmer uncovered, still over medium low heat, for about fifteen minutes, stirring occasionally.
5. Meanwhile, lower the oven to 350F. Cut the puff pastry into one inch strips, and form into a lattice-top pastry that will fit over the top of your favorite casserole dish. Brush with beaten egg. Bake on a sheet pan about 10 minutes, or until it is puffy and golden. Leave the oven on.
6. Taste the mixture in the pot. Is it seasoned how you like it? Adjust if necessary, then pour mixture into a deep casserole dish. Top with the puff pastry lattice, pressing down slightly so the filling is visible through the holes. Bake at 350F for another ten minutes, to meld the filling and crust together.
Note: Though all of Paula's recipes for pot pie call for chicken breasts, I can't see any reason why thighs wouldn't be just as tasty. You could definitely also use leftover roasted chicken, or a store-bought rotisserie chicken, if you cared to.
P.S.- In reference for this blog entry, I Googled Paula Deen Chicken Pot Pie again. I got two more hits than last time- and one of the recipes has canned biscuits, and the other has you make a biscuit topping with Bisquick. Sheesh. I guess Paula is nothing if not versatile.
I'm not a recipe person, generally. I'm a little-of-this, little-of-that, just-eyeball-it person. I know there are you analytical types who like things to be clear and defined, but that has just never been my style. That being said, sometimes you taste a dish that is so wonderful, so perfectly prepared that you don't want one modicum of difference to occur when you attempt to recreate it.
And that's exactly the sort of feeling I had about Paula Deen's Chicken Pot Pie. My mother had made it some time ago, and it clearly was the only contender for the title of Best Chicken Pot Pie, Ever. It had the distinctions of being made with heavy cream and, instead of a traditional pie crust, it was topped with lattice-woven puff pastry. Yes, PUFF PASTRY. Isn't life grand?
Naturally, when a craving set in for Paula Deen's Chicken Pot Pie, I called my mother for instructions, who is much more accessible than Paula. It had been quite some time since she had made it, and had only a vague recollection of how to go about it. Normally that would be enough; my mother is quite adept at improvising. But this pie was so perfect, so complete, that I didn't want to take any chances. I decided to look up the recipe.
Imagine my befuddlement, then, when upon searching in Paula's Lady and Sons Cookbook, the chicken pot pie recipe I found used pie crust, not puff pastry, and no cream at all. Plus, it contained two cans of condensed soup! That sort of thing would have never been in my mother's kitchen, and it certainly would not be in mine, either. (We both feel pretty strongly about preservatives and sodium.) I determined there must be in existence another Paula Deen Chicken Pot Pie recipe, and a quick Google search confirmed this. I found two more recipes, both on the Food Network site. Only one mentioned puff pastry and cream, so I figured that must be the one. A quick print out, a gathering of materials, and I was ready for some pie making.
During this process, however, I noticed there seemed to be some... holes in the recipe. Things just weren't quite adding up. Like the fact that it called for three quarters of a cup of chicken base. (Just half that amount would be unbearably salty.) The fact that you are instructed to pour raw onions and garlic into a soupy mixture that will only be cooked until "warmed through." I don't know about you, but I don't care to bite into any chunks of raw garlic.
I won't bore you with the details of every minute frustration that entailed in the transpiring of this recipe. I will, instead, give you what I consider the best bits of all of the different versions I found of this pot pie, along with a few common sense adjustments, in hopes that you will learn this lesson the easy way: Basic kitchen skills are far more useful than recipes.
Chicken Pot Pie
Adapted from several versions of Paula Deen's original recipe
1 large sheet frozen puff pastry
1 egg, beaten
3 or 4 chicken breast halves
2 tablespoons cooking oil
1/3 cup butter
2/3 cup all-purpose flour
3 cups heavy cream
1 1/2 cups chicken broth
3 or 4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 small yellow onion, minced
1 bag frozen peas and carrots, boiled or steamed soft
1/8 tsp grated nutmeg (fresh is sooooo good)
Salt and pepper
1. Preheat oven to 425F. Drizzle a little oil onto chicken breasts and generally season them with salt and pepper. Bake until cooked through, about one hour. When cooked chicken has cooled, remove the skin and discard (read: eat), then shred or chop the meat into bite sized pieces. Set aside.
2. In a large pot or dutch oven, heat 2 tbsp oil over medium high heat. Add the onions and cook until translucent. Sprinkle lightly with salt, then add garlic and cook a little more. Onions and garlic should both be quite soft.
3. When your onions are done, add the 2/3 cup butter and allow to melt, then stir in flour. You're making a roux here- you should have a thick, velvety liquid at the bottom with the onions and garlic immersed in it. Lower the heat to medium low and cook for about four or five minutes, stirring, until the roux is golden but not brown. Add heavy cream and whisk vigorously, turning your roux into a bechamel, which is the mother of all creamy sauces.
4. Add the chicken, cooked carrots and peas, generous salt and pepper, and nutmeg. Simmer uncovered, still over medium low heat, for about fifteen minutes, stirring occasionally.
5. Meanwhile, lower the oven to 350F. Cut the puff pastry into one inch strips, and form into a lattice-top pastry that will fit over the top of your favorite casserole dish. Brush with beaten egg. Bake on a sheet pan about 10 minutes, or until it is puffy and golden. Leave the oven on.
6. Taste the mixture in the pot. Is it seasoned how you like it? Adjust if necessary, then pour mixture into a deep casserole dish. Top with the puff pastry lattice, pressing down slightly so the filling is visible through the holes. Bake at 350F for another ten minutes, to meld the filling and crust together.
Note: Though all of Paula's recipes for pot pie call for chicken breasts, I can't see any reason why thighs wouldn't be just as tasty. You could definitely also use leftover roasted chicken, or a store-bought rotisserie chicken, if you cared to.
P.S.- In reference for this blog entry, I Googled Paula Deen Chicken Pot Pie again. I got two more hits than last time- and one of the recipes has canned biscuits, and the other has you make a biscuit topping with Bisquick. Sheesh. I guess Paula is nothing if not versatile.
Delicious, tangy roses
(Preface: Forgive my absence. There has been a surplus of traveling and visiting in my recent weeks, and a deficit of internet access, and I have not put forth enough effort to reach you. But I assure you, I have been chastised, and with the appropriate amount of chagrin and sheepishness I return to you, bursting with things I just can't wait to share.)
Hi, friends.
When I was eighteen I took my first serving job at a delightful little place called Nonnah's. They were famous for their desserts and cocktails- in fact, most people ordered only dessert, and many people didn't even realize they served real food. As waitstaff, I saw firsthand that they did, including some of the best tapas I have ever tasted, to date. Including a spinach and artichoke dip, spooned into shallow dishes, topped with cheese, and broiled individually to order, served with crusty French bread. I was hooked. It was all artichokes, all the time after that.
Time moved forward, and after awhile I was no longer eighteen and also no longer working at Nonnah's, as these things go. So after months of cravings and grief, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and this is what happened.
Here, cupped in Courtney's elegant hands, we have three artichoke hearts. Aren't they pretty? They look just like little delicious, tangy roses. And it's no surprised that both hearts and roses can be associated with these tasty little blossoms, because I have often found that there is an extreme connection between falling in love and artichokes. My signature, show-stopping recipe is actually called Falling In Love Chicken, made with an artichoke and white wine sauce. (That's for the future, friends- we don't know each other well enough yet for Falling In Love Chicken.)
This dip will serve you well. It's one of those last minute, crowd pleasing, man catching, admiration gleaning recipes that just can't, can't, can't fail, and makes you love it all the moreso for it. And whereas Falling In Love Chicken is designed to make the eater fall in love with you, personally, this recipe doesn't leave any chance of that. You may as well step aside, because no one's going to be looking at you once it is served- they're all going to be focusing on it, and how they can possibly get a great deal more of it.
Now, I am aware that there are many recipes for spinach artichoke dip floating around, and even the most pedestrian of restaurants serve it nowadays. But if you haven't had it like this, you just haven't had it. And I think you owe it to yourself, because after all, you deserve the best. So make some today!
Possibly the most wonderful thing about this recipe- besides the resulting product- is the fact that once the initial prep work is completed, the entire dish falls together in a matter of minutes. Cheese, garlic, artichokes, spinach, lemon zest- these ingredients belong together. They want to join forces, and will require very little of you to accomplish this. All you have to do is stir.
Three things I must insist on, for your own good: You must shred your own cheese, especially the mozzarella. Admittedly, I am a cheese snob, but this is not a matter of superiority. It is a matter of facts. Preshredded cheese is coated with corn starch in factories to keep the shreds from sticking together and becoming one unappealing blob in your supermarket. In a recipe that is so lightly cooked- and so cheese-heavy- the extra cornstarch will create a stringy, globular, and somehow chalky texture that you will not like, at all. So just sacrifice the extra five minutes and grate your own cheese.
Secondly, you really want to chop your onion very finely. You don't have to go so far as to mince it, but a large, squeaky piece of onion with throw off the whole experience of the bite you are trying to enjoy.
And third, make more than you think you will need, because you will end up needing it. Promise. (Plus it freezes nicely, too.)
Three Cheese Spinach Artichoke Dip
Remember, as with all things, that everything is up for debate. Not a fan of parmesan? Use pecorino. Find garlic a little noxious? Cut back the amount, or even omit.
1 loaf French bread
2 to 3 tbsp butter, olive oil, or cooking oil
1 can artichoke hearts, roughly chopped
2 packages frozen spinach, thawed and squeezed out
1 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded
1 cup parmesan cheese, shredded
1 tsp lemon zest, finely minced
5 cloves garlic, chopped
1 half medium sized onion, FINELY chopped
2 tbsp flour
2 cups chicken broth
1 package softened cream cheese
1/2 tsp thyme
Sprinkle of nutmeg
Salt and pepper
1. In a large, sturdy skillet, heat the oil or butter over medium heat. Toss in the onions and cooking, stirring occasionally, until almost translucent. Add garlic and cook a few more minutes. If the pan seems a little dry at this point, add a little more oil/butter and allow to heat up, then sprinkle with the flour. Cook one minute, stirring, to get that yucky flour taste out.
2. Pour in the chicken broth, and mix the onion/flour mixture in well with a whisk. Add lemon zest, thyme, nutmeg, and salt and pepper. Add artichokes and spinach. Bring to a near boil, then lower heat slightly and begin stirring in the cream cheese. The whisk will help emulsify the cheese into the liquid. Then add one half of the parmesan and mozzarella.
3. When all cheeses have been incorporated into the mixture and the spinach and artichokes seem evenly distributed, transfer the mixture into a baking dish. Top with the remainder of the parmesan and mozzarella. Broil on high for three to four minutes, or until the cheeses are golden and bubbly. Serve with sliced (and toasted, if you like) French bread.
Note: If you make this recipe in advance, transfer to the baking dish and top with cheese as usual, then heat at 350F for 15 to 20 minutes or until heated through, then broil.
Hi, friends.
When I was eighteen I took my first serving job at a delightful little place called Nonnah's. They were famous for their desserts and cocktails- in fact, most people ordered only dessert, and many people didn't even realize they served real food. As waitstaff, I saw firsthand that they did, including some of the best tapas I have ever tasted, to date. Including a spinach and artichoke dip, spooned into shallow dishes, topped with cheese, and broiled individually to order, served with crusty French bread. I was hooked. It was all artichokes, all the time after that.
Time moved forward, and after awhile I was no longer eighteen and also no longer working at Nonnah's, as these things go. So after months of cravings and grief, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and this is what happened.
Here, cupped in Courtney's elegant hands, we have three artichoke hearts. Aren't they pretty? They look just like little delicious, tangy roses. And it's no surprised that both hearts and roses can be associated with these tasty little blossoms, because I have often found that there is an extreme connection between falling in love and artichokes. My signature, show-stopping recipe is actually called Falling In Love Chicken, made with an artichoke and white wine sauce. (That's for the future, friends- we don't know each other well enough yet for Falling In Love Chicken.)
This dip will serve you well. It's one of those last minute, crowd pleasing, man catching, admiration gleaning recipes that just can't, can't, can't fail, and makes you love it all the moreso for it. And whereas Falling In Love Chicken is designed to make the eater fall in love with you, personally, this recipe doesn't leave any chance of that. You may as well step aside, because no one's going to be looking at you once it is served- they're all going to be focusing on it, and how they can possibly get a great deal more of it.
Now, I am aware that there are many recipes for spinach artichoke dip floating around, and even the most pedestrian of restaurants serve it nowadays. But if you haven't had it like this, you just haven't had it. And I think you owe it to yourself, because after all, you deserve the best. So make some today!
Possibly the most wonderful thing about this recipe- besides the resulting product- is the fact that once the initial prep work is completed, the entire dish falls together in a matter of minutes. Cheese, garlic, artichokes, spinach, lemon zest- these ingredients belong together. They want to join forces, and will require very little of you to accomplish this. All you have to do is stir.
Three things I must insist on, for your own good: You must shred your own cheese, especially the mozzarella. Admittedly, I am a cheese snob, but this is not a matter of superiority. It is a matter of facts. Preshredded cheese is coated with corn starch in factories to keep the shreds from sticking together and becoming one unappealing blob in your supermarket. In a recipe that is so lightly cooked- and so cheese-heavy- the extra cornstarch will create a stringy, globular, and somehow chalky texture that you will not like, at all. So just sacrifice the extra five minutes and grate your own cheese.
Secondly, you really want to chop your onion very finely. You don't have to go so far as to mince it, but a large, squeaky piece of onion with throw off the whole experience of the bite you are trying to enjoy.
And third, make more than you think you will need, because you will end up needing it. Promise. (Plus it freezes nicely, too.)
Three Cheese Spinach Artichoke Dip
Remember, as with all things, that everything is up for debate. Not a fan of parmesan? Use pecorino. Find garlic a little noxious? Cut back the amount, or even omit.
1 loaf French bread
2 to 3 tbsp butter, olive oil, or cooking oil
1 can artichoke hearts, roughly chopped
2 packages frozen spinach, thawed and squeezed out
1 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded
1 cup parmesan cheese, shredded
1 tsp lemon zest, finely minced
5 cloves garlic, chopped
1 half medium sized onion, FINELY chopped
2 tbsp flour
2 cups chicken broth
1 package softened cream cheese
1/2 tsp thyme
Sprinkle of nutmeg
Salt and pepper
1. In a large, sturdy skillet, heat the oil or butter over medium heat. Toss in the onions and cooking, stirring occasionally, until almost translucent. Add garlic and cook a few more minutes. If the pan seems a little dry at this point, add a little more oil/butter and allow to heat up, then sprinkle with the flour. Cook one minute, stirring, to get that yucky flour taste out.
2. Pour in the chicken broth, and mix the onion/flour mixture in well with a whisk. Add lemon zest, thyme, nutmeg, and salt and pepper. Add artichokes and spinach. Bring to a near boil, then lower heat slightly and begin stirring in the cream cheese. The whisk will help emulsify the cheese into the liquid. Then add one half of the parmesan and mozzarella.
3. When all cheeses have been incorporated into the mixture and the spinach and artichokes seem evenly distributed, transfer the mixture into a baking dish. Top with the remainder of the parmesan and mozzarella. Broil on high for three to four minutes, or until the cheeses are golden and bubbly. Serve with sliced (and toasted, if you like) French bread.
Note: If you make this recipe in advance, transfer to the baking dish and top with cheese as usual, then heat at 350F for 15 to 20 minutes or until heated through, then broil.
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