Tag Archives: food

And the one shall become two

My grandfather Big Jake has been sending us large quantities of random groceries since the year 2004. Big Jake takes great pride in being resourceful and finding a ‘great deal,’ so frequently he will ship us marinades and dressings that have just passed their expiration date, cans and cans of food with dents in them that were sold for a few cents each after getting damaged in transit in some truck, and bulk quantities of flour, sugar, and oats. Big Jake also loves buying gigantic pieces of meat, and saves them in his own freezer until the time comes to provide for one of his grandchildren. And when it’s our turn, you never know what kind of bounty will spring forth. A duck. 10 million pounds of ground beef. A huge frozen mass of pink which upon further investigation ended up being 20-some odd chicken breasts. I call it ‘the pink plank,’ and I’m terrified of defrosting the monster. You can’t receive a Big Jake grocery shipment without having to pick your jaw up off the floor. And fill up your coat closet with the overflow that doesn’t fit in the pantry.

There have been joys and challenges, laughter and tears, butter sent through the postal service, and spaghetti sauce to last a lifetime, which I always need on hand to throw together my topmost go-to meal.

All this said, about 4 months ago Big Jake sent us two gigantic (almost 5 lb) cuts of meat called “arm roast.” The name of this slab of animal flesh made me pause to ponder some of the deeper questions of the universe. I mean, what the heck is an arm roast? Is there any situation in which you would say “that cow has a nice fat arm”? Aren’t they . . . legs? Any ranchers out there who can clarify this point?

I apologize for this illustration. It seemed a necessity at the time I made it.

Considering the package said “Content: beef,” I chose to move on and ask no further questions. Ignorance can be bliss, as long as it doesn’t kill you via food poisoning–and I’m happy to report that it didn’t.

Our freezer situation was in emergency status. With the 2 arm roasts, the duck he sent us, the tablet of chicken breasts, plus other sundry large items, it hadn’t been able to house ice cream for about a year. It was getting ridiculous, and it was time to clear some space out and cook that dang arm roast. The first arm roast, that is.

Things looked promising. The meat smelled great as it browned, the oven was preheating, and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into the tender, falling-apart pieces of beef that the next few hours held in store for us. However, when it became obvious that the arm roast would never in any dimension of space or time be able to fit into the Dutch oven along with the carrots, onions, mushrooms, and sauce, I was forced to reconfigure my plans.

I tallied up the facts:

Fact #1: There was no way I was refreezing any part of that roast. The whole point was ice-cream space in the freezer, and we were not jeopardizing that in any scenario.

Fact #2: Forcing all the meat into the one pot would have resulted in an oven explosion that may well have brought about the end of the USA as we know it.

The simple answer to all my problems came to me in a flash:

And the one shall become two.

It was the only solution. Plus, it sounded biblical, so that pretty much sealed the deal. One roast became two roasts. I broke out my other cast iron pot (also from Big Jake’s basement) and made a second roast, improvising with some onion, some apples, some ginger, and some Asian seasonings. And that, my friends, is how I came to have two big roasts in the oven this past Sunday afternoon. Two whole roasts–for a household of two. One for me, one for my husband.

I would like to report that we will be eating roast for the next month, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Amen and amen.

I will be sharing the recipe for Roast #1 next Thursday, and it is de-licious. I can further vouch for it because it has stood the test of time as I have eaten it over and over again this week. In fact, I will probably be eating it tonight as well, and I’m actually . . . *honest self examination in process* . . . looking forward to it. And that says a lot about a recipe.

Have a great weekend everyone! Sleep in a little, drink a delicious coffee, and work a gigantic bowl of popcorn into your Saturday night. Or whatever floats your boat, really. This weekend, a wine tasting at our friend Cassia‘s house is going to float my boat. This weekend, a good douse of Baileys in my coffee is going to float my boat. And I may even con my husband into giving me a foot massage (conning husband=putting on a cute little alien face and smacking his butt until he agrees to whatever you’re asking) (marital advice at no extra charge).

Skillet Chicken in a Thyme Red Wine Sauce

This is a savory, incredible-tasting dish with a wine-based sauce that I could drink, folks. It happened spontaneously one night as I envisioned what I could do with some chicken, a jar of artichoke hearts, and some fresh thyme. Clearly garlic, wine, and heavy cream were going to figure in–and mushrooms as well. As all of my favorite ingredients converged, the heavens rejoiced and the stars broke into celestial song. That’s how good it was.

With the exception of the rice I served it with, this is all made in one skillet (minimal dishes), and has all the comforts but none of the complications of a good coq au vin. Suffice it to say that this is the perfect fall meal. With no further ado, let’s get a-cookin’.

Ingredients

(Serves 3)

3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

1 TBS butter

3 TBS olive oil

1/4 c flour

Salt and pepper

1 large onion

6 cloves garlic

6 oz mushrooms, sliced thickly

12 oz artichoke hearts from a can or jar, drained

25-30 sprigs fresh thyme, divided

1 1/2 c red wine (I used a cabernet merlot)

2 tsp chicken bouillon powder

1 c heavy whipping cream

Please try to ignore the wedge of parmesan in that picture. I quickly ordered it back to its niche in the fridge, while chastising it firmly. “You little attention-getter!” I said, wagging my finger vigorously, “You’d better stay out of my garlic cream sauce!”

Now let’s get the prep done. Thickly slice the mushrooms, mince the garlic, and chop up the onion. I didn’t photograph these steps because I was s’darn hungry! So just pretend I did and let’s keep going. Reserve about 10 sprigs of thyme, but take the leaves off the rest and discard the stems. To easily take the leaves off of the stem, hold it vertically between two fingers (right side up) while pinching the stem between the thumb and index of your opposite hand. Then, starting at the top, simply run your thumb and index downwards. OK, that sounds super confusing. But that’s why we have photography:

The leaves will come right off!

I use meaty mushrooms for this instead of the more common white button mushrooms. The thick slices of good and hearty mushroom were one of my favorite parts of the final dish. They make life worth living.

I mean, can you think of a single recipe I’ve posted here that doesn’t have mushrooms in it? OK, the Chess Pie, you have a point–but seriously: Penne Rosa. Mushroom Sage Pasta. Garlicky Stuffed Portobellos. The Balsamic Pot Roast I’ll be posting about in another week or so. Mushrooms are an essential part of my daily well-being.

But let’s get back to business before I break into a song that starts “Mushrooms are my reason/can’t do without them any season/I must eat them every day/or my joy will fade away.”

Pat the chicken dry with a paper towel. It’s important that the chicken be as dry as possible when it hits the pan, because that will allow it to get a nice brown sizzly sear instead of steaming in its own liquid. Sprinkle the pieces liberally on both sides with salt and pepper . . .

. . . then dredge them through the flour and shake off the excess.

Note: the flour coating will cause the pieces of chicken to absorb some of the red wine sauce later on, which results in the underside of the chicken turning a little purple/red. If that seems unappetizing to you, skip the flour coating and just pan-fry the seasoned chicken directly in the butter and oil.

Heat the butter and olive oil over medium high in a large and deep skillet. When the pan is hot, add the chicken.

Cook about 3 minutes per side, until nicely seared.

Remove the chicken and set it aside. It’s still very raw, but don’t worry, we’ll come back to it. Add more oil to the pan if needed, give it a minute or so to heat, toss in the onion and garlic, and fry for 3-4 minutes.

Add the mushrooms . . .

. . . and continue to cook until they start to brown. This should take about 5 minutes. Now, add the thyme leaves and artichoke hearts.

Cook for 3 more minutes, stirring occasionally.

Pour in the red wine.

Just try not to be like me and splatter the whole surrounding area. It was a bloodbath, folks.

Bring it to a boil and let it cook for 2 minutes. Stir in the bouillon powder. Look at that magic in the making . . .

Place the chicken on top of the veggies and sauce . . .

. . . and top each breast with 2 or so sprigs of thyme. I should probably point out at this juncture that I said this recipe “Serves 3” above. That’s because there are 3 chicken breasts involved, and the principles of Mathematics seemed to call for this equanimity. However, in our house it turned out to be more like 4.5 servings because frankly, there’s no way I can consume an entire chicken breast when my fork keeps returning to the piles of white rice slathered in sauce. Know thyself, and thou shalt know how many servings this would be in your household.

Cover the skillet and turn the heat down to low.

Cook for 12-15 minutes. I cooked mine for closer to 20, and the chicken was starting to get a little dry. Moist, perfectly cooked chicken is a heavenly experience, so let this be a warning to you–don’t overcook it like I did! Take the breasts out after 15 minutes max and test for doneness. When the chicken is just cooked through, uncover the skillet and set the chicken aside. Create an aluminum foil tent to keep it warm and ready. Now add the cup of heavy cream to the sauce . . .

Simmer the sauce and veggies until slightly thickened, about 5 minutes. Taste and reseason.

Serve the chicken over pasta, potatoes or rice, with the veggies and sauce poured over top. Garnish with some more sprigs of thyme.

Here’s the piece of chicken prior to the sauce being poured over in a torrent of amazingness. . .

. . . and here it is after.

Let’s take the mandatory bite . . .

OK, not enough meat in that bite. Let’s take another.

Let’s also visit my husband’s plate. Here it is as he pours on the sauce . . .

. . . and then adds the chicken.

Guys, I love the chicken–but what I live for is that sauce. I can’t wait to make this again.

In fact, if you’re a vegetarian (though if you are it’s unlikely you will have made it this far into the post) just cut out the chicken and make the sauce. That alone is the perfect meal.

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