Once again, it's time to visit Gallus Domesticus, the Chicken. Such a multi-talented bird. The chicken serves as an egg factory, insect control, all-natural alarm clock, and even a schoolyard goading and insulting tool. Entire cookbooks have been written about them, and international conglomerates make billions of dollars by frying and selling them, albeit not before loading them up with all kinds of icky chemicals, enhancers, and artificial crud, but that's another blog.
The versatility of chicken carries two common pitfalls. The risk of cooking it to the point where it's a mass of dry stringy rubber, or having skin that is so pallid and mushy, that before we even taste it, we take the safer road and banish the skin to the side of our plates, covering up the maneuver by cleverly telling ourselves (and perhaps whoever did the cooking) that "I'm just really being careful with my diet these days."
I'll admit that my chicken dishes have on several occasions suffered at the hands of these two culinary specters. So I wanted to see if it is really possible to get juicy meat, and a tasty skin that doesn't taste like a deflated chunk of greasy rubber ball. But I also wanted something relatively easy to execute and college student friendly that could be done say with one pan and little else.
For starters, I wanted to minimize the risk of drying, so I decided to not cook chicken breasts which I think are the least flavorful part, and opted for whole chicken legs and thighs. These cuts I believe are more suitable for substantial "one dish" dinners because they all have a uniform shape and a leg joint that has a lot of yummy collagen we can convert to lip-smacking, finger licking gelatin. And we can fit 3 legs and 3 thighs into one pan, which makes for a pretty good bounty from just one cooking vessel. Also, I don't know what has gotten into the heads of grocers these days, but there is no way I'm shelling out ten bucks for a tiny pack of three or four chicken breasts, but I'll pay seven dollars for the family-size econo-pack of legs and thighs. Score 1-0 for frugality.
Now for both chicken dishes, I wanted to cook them in the same relative fashion, but make just a couple changes between two dishes to see if there would be dramatic differences in results. A relatively simple experiment I think.
Next for me was the cooking method. The most simple way I know to get good texture is to go low and slow when it comes to legs and thighs. So for the primary method, I took chicken A, lightly seasoned it with Lawry's seasoned salt (My pepper grinder disappeared on me, but that's a lament for another day), browned it up in a saute pan, and then braised it with some onions and a little garlic for about an hour and some change in a 300 degree oven. For a sauce, I went very simple, just a little bit of the pan jus with a squeeze of lime.
This method yielded chicken that fell off the bone, and it was moist, and it did make the most of the lip-smacking goodness from the leg joint. But the skin was a bit on the gummy side from being braised for so long, and the meat did fall apart a bit more than I would have liked. (Nothing wrong with shredded chicken, it's just not what I wanted here). Also, the sauce just kind of ran off the chicken and settled into a puddle on the plate. It wasn't bad, I just prefer my sauce to drape the meat in a cloak of yummy deliciousness. I don't like to have to go sauce hunting on the plate.
So, what could be done with chicken B that would correct these mild problems? I wanted to add flavor into the chicken meat itself, crisp the skin, and have the meat be fall off the bone tender, but still have some body to it along with a smooth, savory sauce that really stayed on the chicken where it belonged.
For starters, I wanted to layer flavoring into the meat itself. This I did by brining the chicken for about a half hour or so in a solution of water, salt, lemon juice and some good (but not great) tequila. After that, there followed the same procedure for chicken A: Stove-top browning followed by a good long and slow braise in the oven. Only this time when the chicken was done, I removed it to a plate and ran the pan juices through my gravy separator. Then, to ensure that the skin would not suffer again, the chicken went back in the pan and the whole thing got a 2 minute blast under the broiler. This crisped the skin nicely, and blackened it just a little bit for a "hot off the grill" flavor.
I wanted to make use of the fond in the bottom of the pan. After all, it's tough to beat the flavor of a good solid pan sauce when you can take advantage of a nice fond. So again, the chicken came out of the pan, and the pan went pack over the stove (and the dish ran away with the spoon ;) ). Since tequila went in the brine, I thought it would bring a nice balance to the dish if I included it in the sauce. I used tequila to deglaze all those yummy brown bits on the bottom of the pan and then added the pan juices back (leaving the fat in the separator). Then it reduced down a little before tossing in some lemon zest, a splash of lemon juice, and then a little fresh cilatro for brightening and a couple pats of butter to convert the mixture into a velvety smooth pan au jus that had the clinging power I desired. A little bit of seasoning to finish, and chicken 2.0 was ready.
Wow what a difference between the two. The few extra steps in making this dish gave it a depth of flavor that really turned up the volume here. The meat was again fall off the bone, but much more flavorful thanks to the brining process. The skin was so much better than before, the broiling helped the skin stand up to having a sauce layered onto it. There was a little bit of softening to the skin, but it still had a smokey, citrus and fresh, bright flavor. There was no harshness from any alcohol, which had long since cooked away, leaving only a light hint of agave in the background, almost as an after thought. All without any fatty "chewing gum" symptoms at all in the skin. Of course, the downside was that chicken B took about 2 hours to cook from start to finish, most of the wait time was for the brining. I think this will be one of those dishes I make on Sunday evening so I can have chicken for lunch on Monday, scoring two meals from one long cooking session.
I'm ecstatic that just a little bit of tinkering with this common and simple bird yielded such a dramatic result, and this post has gone on long enough. You all must be getting hungry by now from reading for so long. If you want to get a chicken like this, just brine it, brown it, braise it, broil it, blacken it (if you like), and you'll have a chicken formula that gives undeniable satisfaction and everything you could want from our versatile friend, Gallus Domesticus. The best part is, it leaves you free to use any flavors you like. It's not a "tequila and citrus only" method! It's an ideal canvas for trying flavors from around the world, and celebrating the diversity and versatility of our little clucking friends.
Yes, it's a little more work, and if you're thinking that all this sounds like too much of a challenge for you to try, all I can say is "C'mon, give it a try, what are you, Chicken?"
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Lunch, the mostly forgotten meal.
On some occasions it's a powerbar from the vending machine. On others it's an extravagant business meeting disguised as a meal. Many times it comes from a pre-packaged Styrofoam coffin or value menu, and more often than anyone would like to admit, it is simply left off the menu. I'm talking about Lunch. The other daily meal.
So what happened to Lunch? I would postulate that Lunch became a casualty of the busy lifestyle of today. Gone are the feel-good images of mom working in the morning at the kitchen counter and packing a lunchbox with a sandwich, occasionally a coveted fruit roll up, and the cafeteria floor trading blue-chip, the jello pudding pack.
Now that I'm not on the insane schedule of 26 hour days, 8 days a week at Pasadena City College, I decided that I will not continue to relegate Lunch to cheap chinese takeout or Burgerman's greasified, nap inducing 99 cent offerings. At the same time, lunch doesn't (and in my opinion, shouldn't) be a place of fine dining cuisine experimentation.
Rather, I decided to take just a few simple ingredients, and put them into a pack that will keep well without getting funky. I wanted something refreshing for both my palate and my midday meal. So today, here is my take on a (relatively) healthy sandwich for my new (also, relatively) active lifestyle.
Portobello mushrooms sauteed in olive oil and a little butter, with roasted yellow peppers, thinly sliced shallot, fresh escarole and cilantro, and a little smidge of mayonnaise, on a whole wheat pita. Rest assured, this one has some serious flavors going on. Meaty goodness from the mushrooms, subtle but unique sweetness from the roasted peppers, a little bite (but not too much) from the shallot make for a somewhat traditional vege-sandwich. But here's where I had some fun.
Instead of done-to-death iceberg or romaine, I went out on a leaf and chose baby escarole and fresh cilantro for my greens. It was a gamble, but the slightly bitter and peppery escarole in combination with the bright cilantro really turned up the volume on this sandwich. I'm not much of a fan of Mayo, but just a thin spread on the whole wheat Pita gave the whole wheat pita just enough moisture to not dry out my mouth, potentially robbing me of the full experience of my little lunch creation.
All this sound like a little too much work for lunch? Think again. 10 minutes to roast a pepper, and 5 minutes to saute a mushroom is the bulk of the work to make this. After eating it I really wanted to eat another one, not because I was left hungry from eating "healthy" food, but because it was really pretty darned good. And given the longing yet jealous looks in the eyes of my classmates who were dining on, well, college student food (insert fast food brand name here), I am hoping to repeat this lunchtime experimentation, and hopefully bring back some enthusiasm to the oft maligned, and sometimes unanswered question: "What's for Lunch?"
461 dishes to go!
So what happened to Lunch? I would postulate that Lunch became a casualty of the busy lifestyle of today. Gone are the feel-good images of mom working in the morning at the kitchen counter and packing a lunchbox with a sandwich, occasionally a coveted fruit roll up, and the cafeteria floor trading blue-chip, the jello pudding pack.
Now that I'm not on the insane schedule of 26 hour days, 8 days a week at Pasadena City College, I decided that I will not continue to relegate Lunch to cheap chinese takeout or Burgerman's greasified, nap inducing 99 cent offerings. At the same time, lunch doesn't (and in my opinion, shouldn't) be a place of fine dining cuisine experimentation.
Rather, I decided to take just a few simple ingredients, and put them into a pack that will keep well without getting funky. I wanted something refreshing for both my palate and my midday meal. So today, here is my take on a (relatively) healthy sandwich for my new (also, relatively) active lifestyle.
Portobello mushrooms sauteed in olive oil and a little butter, with roasted yellow peppers, thinly sliced shallot, fresh escarole and cilantro, and a little smidge of mayonnaise, on a whole wheat pita. Rest assured, this one has some serious flavors going on. Meaty goodness from the mushrooms, subtle but unique sweetness from the roasted peppers, a little bite (but not too much) from the shallot make for a somewhat traditional vege-sandwich. But here's where I had some fun.
Instead of done-to-death iceberg or romaine, I went out on a leaf and chose baby escarole and fresh cilantro for my greens. It was a gamble, but the slightly bitter and peppery escarole in combination with the bright cilantro really turned up the volume on this sandwich. I'm not much of a fan of Mayo, but just a thin spread on the whole wheat Pita gave the whole wheat pita just enough moisture to not dry out my mouth, potentially robbing me of the full experience of my little lunch creation.
All this sound like a little too much work for lunch? Think again. 10 minutes to roast a pepper, and 5 minutes to saute a mushroom is the bulk of the work to make this. After eating it I really wanted to eat another one, not because I was left hungry from eating "healthy" food, but because it was really pretty darned good. And given the longing yet jealous looks in the eyes of my classmates who were dining on, well, college student food (insert fast food brand name here), I am hoping to repeat this lunchtime experimentation, and hopefully bring back some enthusiasm to the oft maligned, and sometimes unanswered question: "What's for Lunch?"
461 dishes to go!
Monday, July 19, 2010
Warning! Berry Smooth Terrine Ahead
Occasionally one encounters a technique or dish that truly widens the horizon of culinary exploration. For example, the first time you ever cook eggs IN your hash browns, or bring a steak to sizzling perfection on a rocket-hot charcoal grill. These beautiful cooking milestones are exciting because they show that be it by experimentation, careful planning, or even by fortuitous accident, a cook can always discover new and exciting directions to take in the pursuit of cuisine. Tonight was such a night for me. Tonight, I discovered the simple elegance of the Terrine.
Now, I had no idea of what a terrine was 2 days ago, until I went to the Getty museum with a good friend of mine and noticed among the cultural treasures there a serving dish called a "Terrine". It had lobsters carved onto it, and this piqued my interest. Leave it to a food fanatic to be enthralled with the silver antique serving dish instead of the Monet collection. But I digress.
A little research led me to discover that a Terrine was not just a serving vessel, but a type of dish itself that can be savory or sweet. With near infinite choices before me for my first dive into the terrine pool, and considering that it was 105 degrees in my apartment, I decided to go with a sweet summer treat of fresh berries. But a Terrine is more than just a giant bowl of fresh berries (as great as that is!).
For my Terrine, I wanted all the flavors of my farm-fresh-picked strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries to come through, but be tied together with something that would offset the potential sour factor that is inevitable when gorging oneself on fresh summer berry bounty. After serious thought, I decided to go with a Rose wine, simmered with superfino sugar and some lemon juice to ensure the alcohol would cook off a bit, and not be too overwhelming. What secret ingredient did I use to tie everything together, you ask? Gelatin. Plain, unflavored, 70 cents a box Knox gelatin. That's right dear readers, my fancy Terrine was basically fruit cup jello, taken to it's highest peaks.
I'll admit I was a little apprehensive when my assembled and 24 hour chilled Terrine came out of the loaf pan I chilled it in. A little whip cream and strawberry garnish made for a nice accoutrement, and I gingerly took a bite, worrying if using wine for a jelly base was a good idea. Wow. Just Wow. The sugar and lemon in the Rose wine made a distinctly bright jelly, and brought out the natural sweetness in the berries. The whipped cream (homemade from heavy whipping cream, no spray cans this time) brought a smooth and velvety texture that helped hold the beautifully balanced flavors on the palate for just a few more fleeting seconds. It was so invigorating to taste a berry dessert that tasted like berries and not chumba-womba-mega-blue-fructose-berry-blast pancreatic shocking cocktail mix from hell.
I will not comment further on the tasting of this terrine, as this entry is long on the page already. But I will say that for what amounts to little more than berries and the original Jello, this new-found Terrine experiment in both the savory and sweet forms calls for more kitchen exploration on my part. And for me, "There's always room" for that.
Now, I had no idea of what a terrine was 2 days ago, until I went to the Getty museum with a good friend of mine and noticed among the cultural treasures there a serving dish called a "Terrine". It had lobsters carved onto it, and this piqued my interest. Leave it to a food fanatic to be enthralled with the silver antique serving dish instead of the Monet collection. But I digress.
A little research led me to discover that a Terrine was not just a serving vessel, but a type of dish itself that can be savory or sweet. With near infinite choices before me for my first dive into the terrine pool, and considering that it was 105 degrees in my apartment, I decided to go with a sweet summer treat of fresh berries. But a Terrine is more than just a giant bowl of fresh berries (as great as that is!).
For my Terrine, I wanted all the flavors of my farm-fresh-picked strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries to come through, but be tied together with something that would offset the potential sour factor that is inevitable when gorging oneself on fresh summer berry bounty. After serious thought, I decided to go with a Rose wine, simmered with superfino sugar and some lemon juice to ensure the alcohol would cook off a bit, and not be too overwhelming. What secret ingredient did I use to tie everything together, you ask? Gelatin. Plain, unflavored, 70 cents a box Knox gelatin. That's right dear readers, my fancy Terrine was basically fruit cup jello, taken to it's highest peaks.
I'll admit I was a little apprehensive when my assembled and 24 hour chilled Terrine came out of the loaf pan I chilled it in. A little whip cream and strawberry garnish made for a nice accoutrement, and I gingerly took a bite, worrying if using wine for a jelly base was a good idea. Wow. Just Wow. The sugar and lemon in the Rose wine made a distinctly bright jelly, and brought out the natural sweetness in the berries. The whipped cream (homemade from heavy whipping cream, no spray cans this time) brought a smooth and velvety texture that helped hold the beautifully balanced flavors on the palate for just a few more fleeting seconds. It was so invigorating to taste a berry dessert that tasted like berries and not chumba-womba-mega-blue-fructose-berry-blast pancreatic shocking cocktail mix from hell.
I will not comment further on the tasting of this terrine, as this entry is long on the page already. But I will say that for what amounts to little more than berries and the original Jello, this new-found Terrine experiment in both the savory and sweet forms calls for more kitchen exploration on my part. And for me, "There's always room" for that.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Back to the Kitchen!
The velvety lemon and butter white wine sauce clinging to my taste buds is the ultimate indication that my move to UCLA is now complete. Now with a hopefully decent schedule, I will once again be able to work in my favorite lab of all time, the Kitchen (and yes, that is with a capital "K").
For my first meal in the new place, I took the kitchen through some light paces with steamed and lightly sauteed asparagus, and chicken saltimbocca, one of my all time favorite dishes. I also chose this dish for it's relative simplicity. After all, getting back to cooking after subsisting on horrid mass-produced fast food cardboard could render some horrid results were I to push the envelope too much.
Chicken saltimbocca is the string quartet of the culinary world. Thin and crispy prosciutto, juicy and flavorful chicken breast, fresh sage, and a bright sauce can either be gastronomic nirvana, or an acrid,dry, burned mass of dissappointment. All it takes is a little timing, some attention to detail (not TOO much attention), and patience. Why patience? because this dish is so good I nearly drove myself crazy wanting to skip the last bit of cooking and just chomp the chicken and proscuitto down, then chug the sauce as a chaser. But I held things together pretty well (hiccup).
A little bit of seasoned flour, some chopping, mincing, steaming and sauteing, reduction and garnish and before you could say "Mama Mia" my plate was adorned with my prize. Food. REAL FOOD.
I would love to drone on about the magnificent dish I made this evening, but tooting my own horn is not a great hobby of mine. My glass of pinot grigio is beckoning to me, and all I will say about this chicken saltimbocca is that I bought TWO chicken breasts to cook. One for tonight, and one for tomorrow. Because flavor like this cannot be left to just one tasting.
Until out next meal together, from my matchbook apartment overlooking UCLA, I bid you all "Good Eating".
For my first meal in the new place, I took the kitchen through some light paces with steamed and lightly sauteed asparagus, and chicken saltimbocca, one of my all time favorite dishes. I also chose this dish for it's relative simplicity. After all, getting back to cooking after subsisting on horrid mass-produced fast food cardboard could render some horrid results were I to push the envelope too much.
Chicken saltimbocca is the string quartet of the culinary world. Thin and crispy prosciutto, juicy and flavorful chicken breast, fresh sage, and a bright sauce can either be gastronomic nirvana, or an acrid,dry, burned mass of dissappointment. All it takes is a little timing, some attention to detail (not TOO much attention), and patience. Why patience? because this dish is so good I nearly drove myself crazy wanting to skip the last bit of cooking and just chomp the chicken and proscuitto down, then chug the sauce as a chaser. But I held things together pretty well (hiccup).
A little bit of seasoned flour, some chopping, mincing, steaming and sauteing, reduction and garnish and before you could say "Mama Mia" my plate was adorned with my prize. Food. REAL FOOD.
I would love to drone on about the magnificent dish I made this evening, but tooting my own horn is not a great hobby of mine. My glass of pinot grigio is beckoning to me, and all I will say about this chicken saltimbocca is that I bought TWO chicken breasts to cook. One for tonight, and one for tomorrow. Because flavor like this cannot be left to just one tasting.
Until out next meal together, from my matchbook apartment overlooking UCLA, I bid you all "Good Eating".
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Where's the cook?
I've been asking myself that question for the past month over every taco-double-cheeseburger-hot-dog-pita-monstrosity I consumed from the fast-food mongers of the world. The simple answer is: working my robust ass off! College finals are just around the corner, final projects are due, and all sorts of other collegiate tortures abound.
Following the end of school, I'm moving closer to UCLA for the next program that starts in July.
The good news is that once I'm moved into the new apartment, which is equipped with a humble kitchen I'll be able to have some more time for culinary relaxation. I may get in a dish or two between, but for now, every double-combo-#9-with twisty seasoned chipotle fries from Taco Hut is the norm.
Whoever is controlling time out there, I would like to have some more please. =)
Following the end of school, I'm moving closer to UCLA for the next program that starts in July.
The good news is that once I'm moved into the new apartment, which is equipped with a humble kitchen I'll be able to have some more time for culinary relaxation. I may get in a dish or two between, but for now, every double-combo-#9-with twisty seasoned chipotle fries from Taco Hut is the norm.
Whoever is controlling time out there, I would like to have some more please. =)
Sunday, May 9, 2010
One-Dish Wonderful
Surviving off of Taco-Hell, Chalupas of questionable origin, Burger King and Pizza hut is just surviving. My friend asked me the other day "How can you be so into cooking and still like eating this junk?" My answer was "I never said anything about liking this crap."
It's a fact that my current college program has me believing in time travel, because I'm working more hours than can fit into a week. I've been getting home exhausted, too tired to even cook a peanut butter sandwich. With finals approaching, yet still no end in sight to the fast-food quandry in which I find myself, I had to make a little escape. With little in the fridge or cupboards, I went with an old stand-by for dinner, the one-dish skillet meal, sans the "Hamburger Helper".
This time it was a baked pasta. Baked Penne to be precise. Normally, the only baked pastas one has regular exposure to are Lasagna and Zitis, but because both of these dishes are time consuming, I wanted to see what would happen if I tried this in one dish.
The ingredients were pretty simple. I had some mushrooms that looked good still, some garlic, onion, olive oil, and a big can of tomatoes. A little knifework, some mashing and sauteing yielded a very servicable duxelles, after which I deglazed with some white wine. I like telling people I made "Duxelles" for dinner. They think I'm all smart and Chefy, but it's just a fancy-pants word for "Sauteed onions and mushrooms." Deglazing also sounds cool, instead of "I dumped a bunch of wine in the pan." But I digress.
In went the tomatoes, a few cups of water for the 12 ounces of pasta to absorb, and then then top went on. Simmering away, my apartment went from smelling like dirty scrubs and carving wax to that of a small mom and pop style Trattoria.
Once the pasta was "pre-aldente but not raw, that's when the leftover 1/3 bag of mozzarella went in, along with some fresh chopped basil and a bit of parsley. I thickened the mixture with just a dousing of flour very gently to avoid lumps forming,
tossed more cheese on top, and into a 475 degree oven it went to get ooey gooey cheesey and good.
The result? Ok, so it's not the baked Ziti Mama used to make, but with a little basil and pecorino on top, it sure did come close. Bright tomato flavor balanced beautifully with the freshness of the herbs, the Pasta had finished to a perfect al dente, and the sauce was gravy-thick without tasting starchy. A few torn basil leaves over the top really made it a confort food dish for me, and for just a few short bites, the rigors of the scholastic environment faded from my mind; replaced by the aromas and taste of home. And that is truly a one-dish-wonder I can handle.
It's a fact that my current college program has me believing in time travel, because I'm working more hours than can fit into a week. I've been getting home exhausted, too tired to even cook a peanut butter sandwich. With finals approaching, yet still no end in sight to the fast-food quandry in which I find myself, I had to make a little escape. With little in the fridge or cupboards, I went with an old stand-by for dinner, the one-dish skillet meal, sans the "Hamburger Helper".
This time it was a baked pasta. Baked Penne to be precise. Normally, the only baked pastas one has regular exposure to are Lasagna and Zitis, but because both of these dishes are time consuming, I wanted to see what would happen if I tried this in one dish.
The ingredients were pretty simple. I had some mushrooms that looked good still, some garlic, onion, olive oil, and a big can of tomatoes. A little knifework, some mashing and sauteing yielded a very servicable duxelles, after which I deglazed with some white wine. I like telling people I made "Duxelles" for dinner. They think I'm all smart and Chefy, but it's just a fancy-pants word for "Sauteed onions and mushrooms." Deglazing also sounds cool, instead of "I dumped a bunch of wine in the pan." But I digress.
In went the tomatoes, a few cups of water for the 12 ounces of pasta to absorb, and then then top went on. Simmering away, my apartment went from smelling like dirty scrubs and carving wax to that of a small mom and pop style Trattoria.
Once the pasta was "pre-aldente but not raw, that's when the leftover 1/3 bag of mozzarella went in, along with some fresh chopped basil and a bit of parsley. I thickened the mixture with just a dousing of flour very gently to avoid lumps forming,
tossed more cheese on top, and into a 475 degree oven it went to get ooey gooey cheesey and good.
The result? Ok, so it's not the baked Ziti Mama used to make, but with a little basil and pecorino on top, it sure did come close. Bright tomato flavor balanced beautifully with the freshness of the herbs, the Pasta had finished to a perfect al dente, and the sauce was gravy-thick without tasting starchy. A few torn basil leaves over the top really made it a confort food dish for me, and for just a few short bites, the rigors of the scholastic environment faded from my mind; replaced by the aromas and taste of home. And that is truly a one-dish-wonder I can handle.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The "Spring-Broken" Soup Situation.
Ahh the joys of high-stress, close quarters college classrooms. Shared knowledge, fun learning, and there's always one sterling genius who comes to class with a bug instead of staying home, which inevitably passes it on to the rest of us. So after spending most of my spring break in bed, subsisting on cool water and a half eaten jumbo bag of Tostitos, I finally began to feel well enough (and hungry enough) to stagger into the kitchen to conjure up some basic nutrition, in the hope of aiding my recovery from this lovely tuition-free college perk.
Of course, only 1 guy in history has ever conjured a feast from virtually nothing, and seeing that I still can't walk on water, I had to go to the store for some chicken stock. There I also found some escarole that looked pretty fresh, so I snatched it up as well.
Once I got home, I wanted something doable in one pot. A small pot too, since I didn't feel like hefting a hulking cauldron of boiling whatever around. So I washed and chopped up the escarole and sauteed it up with some extra virgin olive oil and lots and LOTS of freshly minced garlic. If garlic doesn't have healing benefits, then I've been suffering from the worlds longest and greatest case of placebo effect. So about 4 cloves found their way into this soup. Vampires and first dates beware! A splash of lemon juice at the end helped bring some brightness and acidity to the party.
Setting the escarole aside once it wilted nicely I brought a quart of chicken stock to a boil. Without bothering to ask forgiveness to the food-god-powers-that-be, I mercilessly broke half a pound of spaghetti in half and tossed it into the stock, along with 3 crushed cloves of crushed garlic....yes, more garlic.
I am pleased to say that despite my dual gastronomic blasphemies (breaking spaghetti, AND cooking it in less than a gallon of water), a little attentive stirring gave the pasta enough motion to cook quite nicely and as soon as it qualified as al dente, it was unceremoniously dumped over the escarole. A hefty amount of black and red pepper, along with the king of cheeses and a quick shot of olive oil over the top finished out the main flavors. Still wanting some freshness, a handful of chopped parsley was ready and willing to fill that role.
Now granted, when you're sick you don't really taste much, but this concoction had the chickeny-goodness of chicken-noodle soup, a pleasant mild bitterness and earthy undertones of sauteed escarole, and the "turned up to 11" punch and pungency of garlic and spice to help make me feel better. Is it any coincidence that I feel much better today? I think not. The soup was so invigorating that shortly after I was well enough to work on some homework. I think I'll even make some more today. Hell I might even return to the land of the living by Monday.
Of course, only 1 guy in history has ever conjured a feast from virtually nothing, and seeing that I still can't walk on water, I had to go to the store for some chicken stock. There I also found some escarole that looked pretty fresh, so I snatched it up as well.
Once I got home, I wanted something doable in one pot. A small pot too, since I didn't feel like hefting a hulking cauldron of boiling whatever around. So I washed and chopped up the escarole and sauteed it up with some extra virgin olive oil and lots and LOTS of freshly minced garlic. If garlic doesn't have healing benefits, then I've been suffering from the worlds longest and greatest case of placebo effect. So about 4 cloves found their way into this soup. Vampires and first dates beware! A splash of lemon juice at the end helped bring some brightness and acidity to the party.
Setting the escarole aside once it wilted nicely I brought a quart of chicken stock to a boil. Without bothering to ask forgiveness to the food-god-powers-that-be, I mercilessly broke half a pound of spaghetti in half and tossed it into the stock, along with 3 crushed cloves of crushed garlic....yes, more garlic.
I am pleased to say that despite my dual gastronomic blasphemies (breaking spaghetti, AND cooking it in less than a gallon of water), a little attentive stirring gave the pasta enough motion to cook quite nicely and as soon as it qualified as al dente, it was unceremoniously dumped over the escarole. A hefty amount of black and red pepper, along with the king of cheeses and a quick shot of olive oil over the top finished out the main flavors. Still wanting some freshness, a handful of chopped parsley was ready and willing to fill that role.
Now granted, when you're sick you don't really taste much, but this concoction had the chickeny-goodness of chicken-noodle soup, a pleasant mild bitterness and earthy undertones of sauteed escarole, and the "turned up to 11" punch and pungency of garlic and spice to help make me feel better. Is it any coincidence that I feel much better today? I think not. The soup was so invigorating that shortly after I was well enough to work on some homework. I think I'll even make some more today. Hell I might even return to the land of the living by Monday.
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