Monthly Archives: November 2011

Chicken and Mushrooms Marsala

Happy day before Thanksgiving!

And while the nation ponders the all-consuming ‘turkey’ issue (fried? roasted? covered? uncovered? brined?), I have something completely different on my mind. Chicken!

This dish (inspired by this blog post–thanks Amy!) incorporates many of my favorite things: mushrooms. Cream. Sweet wines. One-skillet meals.

Would you believe me if I told you that I’ve made it at least 4 times in the past 6 or so weeks? And that I made a sinfully delicious variation that we dubbed ‘Bacon Marsala’? And lemme tell you: for someone who has the food-blogger-like tendency of never making something twice (which, for the record, is a habit I had long before becoming a quasi-food-blogger-person), this is extraordinary.

It’s just so easy to make, uses such basic ingredients–and it’s so, so, so good.

Okay, less raving and more showing!

Ingredients

 (Serves 4)

2 TBS olive oil
1 TBS butter
1 ½ lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
1 lb sliced cremini mushrooms
3 shallots or 1 red onion
4 cloves garlic
1 ¼ cups Marsala wine
1 cup chicken stock
½ cup heavy cream
1 tsp dried thyme
1 cup frozen peas

Chop the chicken thighs into large chunks, trimming and discarding the fat.

Season and toss the chicken with a generous amount of salt and pepper.

In a large skillet, heat 1 TBS of oil and the TBS of butter over high heat.

When hot, add the chicken, and cook for 6-7 minutes, stirring occasionally, until browned (but not cooked through).

Remove the chicken to a plate.

I have to add here that when I’m in a hurry, nothing gets removed from the skillet. Everything goes into the pan at once, and it still turns out great.

Heat the remaining tablespoon of oil in the same skillet over medium high heat, and add the mushrooms.

Cook the mushrooms until browned, about 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Mince the shallots and garlic as the mushrooms cook. You can use a red onion instead, if you have one handy (I’m very partial to this option). Or a white onion. Or a yellow onion. Whatevuh.

Add the shallots and garlic to the mushrooms, and season with salt and pepper.

Cook for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently.

Add the Marsala wine . . .

. . . and scrape up any brown bits. Simmer over medium high heat for about 8 minutes, until the liquid is reduced to about ½ cup.

Add the chicken stock, thyme . . .

. . . cream, and some more salt and pepper.

Bring to a gentle boil, and cook for about 10 minutes, until the sauce has reduced by half.

Note: I usually ignore the ‘gentle’ part and boil it like crazy, and it hasn’t seemed to harm anything or anyone.

Return the chicken to the skillet . . .

. . . and simmer over medium heat for 4-5 minutes, until the chicken is cooked through.

Add the frozen peas . . .

. . . and cook over medium heat 2-3 minutes, until they are hot.

We’re about done here.

Taste and season with more salt and pepper if needed.

Mmmm! It smells so, so good guys (and I think I’ve officially maxed out my monthly allotment of the word ‘so’ as of this sentence).

Serve over rice or noodles!

The sweet Marsala is simply perfect with the cream and shallots. These leftovers are guaranteed to be in high demand, I can tell you that.

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The healthy schizophrenia of the Spirit

Like most of us, when I’m hurt, I get mad.

Some people vent their anger yelling; my old boss punched walls and threw phones; some people cry, some go take a run or a cold shower.

But when I get mad I get very, very quiet.

Don’t get me wrong–I have a million potentially damaging phrases roiling inside, pressing at the walls of my heart and begging to be let out. But I know that if I open my lips, daggers will fly–so I clench them shut. I retreat inside myself.

Funny how in the moment of anger, nothing seems important except causing pain–either to the person you’re mad at, or to yourself–it almost doesn’t matter. In these moments, vulnerability seems like folly, so I consciously build a wall. I tell myself: I don’t care how much damage this wall does–I just don’t want to be exposed again. I make myself unresponsive and cold, because it’s the only way I can contain the volcanic heat in my heart–by surrounding it with blocks of ice.

But while the main force of my emotions and thoughts is caught up in this protective and harmful endeavor, there’s something else going on: a little voice right offstage. This is no bullhorn, no elocutionist, no long-winded politician–this voice is quiet and small and meek.

I can feel that this little voice wants to cry out to God, but I’m too furious to even want to pray, much less to articulate a complete sentence heavenwards.

So the little voice just says “help.”

Just one word.

I’m so weak at these times. In the heated moment itself, I don’t have the self-control to pray for reconciliation, or the softening of my own heart, or anything else–but somehow a small part of my heart can cry that simple word: help.

And what a powerful word–it’s the tiniest channel, but that little peephole of an opening is enough for a powerful God to push through, open up the prison even as I’m building it, and tear it all down. Unclench my fists. Calm the volcano, melt the ice.

God doesn’t require a long prayer from me at these times, or outward signs of repentance, or even an apology. He doesn’t wait for me to cry, or kneel, or talk, or say “I’m sorry” to him or to anyone else–just that one word help sets him in motion, and he runs to me.

I believe the part of me that cries “help” when I don’t have the strength to say anything else is the Spirit in my heart. I’m afraid to even imagine what I would become if it was just me in there, in the corner, refusing to budge, closing myself off with all of my efforts. I would soon construct a prison that would be so hard to demolish that it could stay up for days. Weeks. And eventually, as I built on and added thickness to the walls during moments of anger and hurt, I could be closed off for years. For life.

I thank God for the Spirit in my heart, who looks after me so well. Who is antithetical to the part of me that wants to inflict pain and suffering on myself and others. Who is antithetical to the part of me that refuses help, that wants isolation.

“The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.” (Romans 8:6)

“For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want.” (Galatians 5:17)

Yes–it’s a little schizophrenic. I’m in conflict within my own spirit. I am of two minds. But if I were of one mind with myself and was 100% invested in my own feelings and thoughts moment to moment, God save my soul!

“So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:21-25)