As soon as I publicly announced my New Year’s blogolutions, it was only a matter of time before I just as publicly failed to execute any of them. If you had your money on week one in the When Does Maya Follow Through pool, you wouldn’t have been throwing it away—I do like to procrastinate.
I’d say it’s better late than never, but even this first installment in my cookbook chronicles is kind of a cheat—I made this dish in 2011.
On a rainy, gloomy afternoon very similar to this one, I pulled up my hood and headed to the East Village in search of sustenance. My destination was Northern Spy—the day called for something hearty and comforting, and I’d heard great things about that restaurant’s chicken and egg sandwich.
Despite my misgivings about the cut of poultry utilized, it sounded like the perfect antidote to my entirely self-diagnosed seasonal affective disorder.
Once in awhile, you spend seven hours roasting a hunk of meat for dinner; usually, though, time constraints dictate a more immediately gratifying meal.
If it’s healthy as well, so much the better.
I love autumn. It’s one of the reasons that (along with my mortgage) it would be a big thing for me to leave Ohio. I love the colors, the weather and the food of autumn. And, just as Memorial Day brings about permission to wear white shoes, the beginning of autumn is the time when mass amounts of butter, once again, are socially acceptable.
To celebrate this change in season, I threw a small dinner party. And I got all Martha Stewart-ey.
Really, you guys. I’m all for a running gag, but this is getting to be a bit ridiculous. My latest attempt at cooking rice was in pelau form, and, as you can see below, it was just as unsuccessful as my track record would have predicted.
One of the Carnivore’s favorite meals and one I’ve repeatedly tried to make to varying degrees of edibility, pelau is a Trinidadian pilaf-style dish. Its hallmark flavors come courtesy of meat of some sort, traditionally chicken or beef, marinated in green seasoning (a mixture of lime juice, chives, parsley and cilantro) and browned in sugar; this rendition tasted spot-on, but the rice, once again, was a sticky, gummy mess.
Dear readers, what am I doing wrong?
I’m not sure why I keep trying to like chicken thighs. It’s as if I have one of those short-term memory malfunctions, much-beloved by Grey’s Anatomy‘s grasping writers, each time I come across a dish that uses them: I forget that I can’t stand ‘em until that first bite so rudely reminds me.
Well, I meant to avoid all of that with this recipe for Chicken and Leeks Braised in Wine. It calls for eight thighs, half of which I intended to swap for breast meat so that the Carnivore— who is predisposed to dark cuts—and I would both be happy. But the guy at the market gave me pieces that must’ve belonged to a monster chicken; five were the equivalent of the eight the recipe required, so I figured I might as well use them all up with one fell swoop. That’s where I went wrong.
Of course, you may not see it that way if you’re a thigh fan, in which case: full-speed ahead.
There are things that I hate about my house: the window trim that needs replaced, the gutters, the pesky mortgage. And then there are the things that I love: the yard, the wood floors, the gigantic kitchen.
When I first moved into my house, my friend Laddan would come over and help me use the kitchen. My home is no different than any other dwelling throughout history and all over the world: where the food is made is where the action is. In these winter visits, I learned from Laddan.
1. It’s okay to drink buttermilk, with a little salt added. (I still haven’t tried this.)
2. Hot sauce is a must-have. I actually ended up buying a small jar of Frank’s Red Hot, for the sole purpose of Laddan’s visits.
3. The secret healing ingredient in Chicken Noodle Soup is the lemon.
Things to do while “underemployed”: Eat healthier. (Don’t laugh, not nice.) Start going to the gym again regularly. Make (and keep!) various doctors’ appointments. Figure out new career plan, as my industry is on its way to extinction. Launch food blog with Jill. And, for heaven’s sake, cut back on the spending. So far, I’m one for five. Maybe one and a half, if you’re generous and count last night’s meal as a good step in the thrifty direction.
The ingredients were so promising: Apple cider! Maple syrup! Star anise! Garlic! I’d held onto this recipe from the New York Times for nearly four years, and every time I flipped past it in my files, I paused and sighed. Maple Chicken ‘n’ Ribs. Such a cozy, homey-sounding meal. Perfect for winter weather, I thought, even though originally published in April. I finally gave it a try, and while it’s possible that nothing could measure up to such anticipation, I’m going out on a limb here and pronouncing this, sadly and with no offense to Ms. Lawson, a big ol’ miss.
