That Chicken Recipe I Promised A While Back...

Rachel here.

So, if you've been reading at all lately then you know I have really strong and fond feelings about "The Family Dinner" by Laurie David and Kirsten Uhrenholdt. And, though summer has decided to finally peak out from behind the clouds here in the Bay Area as of late, I know for many of you--ok, probably MOST of you--thoughts are turning to fall. The recipe I offer today from David and Uhrenholdt's cookbook just oozes fall. It's warm, it's hearty, and it features apples and, whether you're finally basking in the warmth of the sun or giddily lapping up crisp autumn air, it's sure to be a hit.

Did I mention that it's easy? Because it is. And everyone in my family ate it to boot.

Apple Cider Chicken
with Caramelized Onions and Apples

ingredients

1 1/2 cups apple cider
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary
1 1/2 pounds boneless, skinless organic chicken thighs, trimmed, each piece cut into 2 pieces
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 onions, cut into wedges
3 slices of bacon, chopped
2 tart apples, peel left on, cut into wedges
1 1/2 cups chicken broth
3 tablespoons flour
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar

method (makes 4-6 servings)

In a large bowl, combine the apple cider, salt, rosemary, and chicken. Set aside.
preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
In a large ovenproof nonstick pan, drizzle the olive oil and heat until shimmering. Add the onion wedges and bacon. Saute over medium heat until the onions are wilted and golden. This will take 10-15 minutes. Now add the apples and saute until they start to soften around the edges and get a bit of color as well, about 5 minutes.
Meanwhile, drain the chicken, reserving the apple cider for later. Toss the chicken pieces in the flour.
Remove the apples and onions from the pan. If you need to, add a drizzle of olive oil to the same pan. Over medium heat, lightly brown the chicken. You might have to do this in two batches.
When all the chicken is golden, add the apple cider vinegar and the reserved apple cider. Stir well, add the chicken stock, bring back to a simmer, and then pile the apples and onions on top (this is just vanity--the dish looks better this way).
Stick the pan in the oven for about 10 minutes or until the chicken is no longer pink.

Hot Wing Chicken Salad...Or, Unfathomable Failure

Rachel here.

The other night John made hot wings. Deeeelicious as they were, he made enough for an army larger than two and so we found ourselves not with a few leftover, but a ton. While we both have a thing for hot wings (this may be the secret to our successful partnership), this leftovers thing was a new problem.

No joke. We have never not eaten all of our hot wings. Never.

We entertained the idea of just continuing to eat them for days on end, but both felt intrigued by the idea of trying to innovate a little with our leftovers. And so we concocted hot wing chicken salad.

We peeled the chicken from the bones (umm...this was tedious), diced up some celery and then mashed it all together with blue cheese dressing. Piling mountains onto squishy buns, we sat down certain that we had just created the greatest thing since chocolate ice cream (ok, I thought it was the greatest thing since chocolate ice cream...John probably was thinking of some other food, though, since he is simply unable to do the things to ice cream that I effortlessly endeavor).

We hadn't.

Everything was fine except that we both found ourselves feeling like we were eating these giant piles of mush. Maybe it was the buns (these were like, I don't know, little fluffy buttery clouds), or maybe we should have made the celery crunch more prominent. Maybe we needed another flavor--onions came to mind for both of us independently. While we maintain that the idea is certainly not at fault, the missing piece eludes us.

I guess we'll just have to give it another go around the next time there's a giant tupperware of leftover chicken wings in the fridge...you know, if that ever happens again in our lives.

Dinner with Both Hands

Hey Ma-

So sorry that G devours vegetables at my house. S also eats rice when he's in our vicinity. I'm thinking that perhaps we can credit the bay breeze instead of my sister status or cooking prowess.

Yeah, I'm feeling confident that it's not my cooking prowess. Particularly these days when I churn out a pretty consistent rotation of sausage and beans, quesadillas and beans, stir-fry...and delivery pizzas. I'm not knocking these dishes (way to be bean-centric though, no?), just acknowledging that they hardly amount to recipes and that it's been a while since I've cooked in a way that's exciting to me. I am, you know, just getting back into baking. Having a baby seems to mean baby steps back into the kitchen as I've known it.

Right now, in a rare moment, I am eating WHILE I blog. Sure this means I'm not being a particularly present eater, but most importantly it means that I AM EATING WITH TWO HANDS.

This is so rare.

So, so, so rare.

John is an amazing partner. We take turns tending to M's needs while we eat. But the reality of it is that neither one of us eats with two hands for a whole meal with much regularity. In fact, absent grandparental visits and this one night a few months back when she was asleep during dinner, John and I have not eaten a single meal at home in which we were free to employ both of our hands for the duration. I wouldn't call this depressing, since it is simply the byproduct of the arrival of our incredibly wonderful baby, but I do want to mark this moment, to appreciate it for what it is: a dinner for me in which I am my only concern.

Awesome.

And, on that note, while I love the blog, I'm off to finish eating, to relish the two-handedness of this meal.

xxoo
-R

Hey Ma,

Last night I got home from school at 8:30 after having been up and about since 6:30 or so in the morning. M slept awfully the night before and decided to protest her nana and pamp's absence yesterday by having--no joke--maybe her fussiest day to date yesterday. G was supposed to watch her all day--and he was really helpful--while I read 100+ pages of Derrida (Anybody out there read Derrida? If you have, you know I was attempting the impossible). With M at fever pitch, though, I just couldn't quite disappear into my dining room to study all day as I'd planned.

Anyway, by the time I got home from class last night I was completely exhausted and rather depressed by the fact that I had Derrida to finish up, an assignment to write on his task in his exploration of Plato's pharmakon, and 60 pages of Hannah Arendt to read (Did you know she had an affair with Heidegger when she was 18 and he was her professor? Juicy, though it didn't make my homework any easier). John and G had already fed themselves. Most of the time I really like coming together for dinner with my family at the end of the day, but sometimes--and this was one of those times--eating in complete silence by myself feels like such a gift. I opened the fridge, pulled out leftover burritos that you'd made, popped them in the microwave and paused to--effortlessly (thanks to you)!--tend to my most basic self for the first time that day. It felt soooo good.

I never make burritos since we live in the land of burritos so having them in the fridge was an extra-special treat (since I completely adore them). You make really simple and yummy ones. Will you share your method?

Of course, I didn't take a picture to share with our lovely readers. Sorry guys, a photo will have to come along another day.

Love,
Rachel

Food for Thought Thursdays: Feeding Kids, Part I

Janet here: Rachel's post this week on Books That Make Us Hungry got me thinking about our children and food. It's a big topic, as you can imagine, so I'm only going to tackle one little bit here in memoryland.

I went into feeding my children with a couple of food versions of Things I Would Never Do or Say to My Children — you know, those things you vow as a child/teenager you will NEVER do when you're a parent, about half of which you do within the first few years of your first child's life. Anyway, I lived in a house where you did not leave the table until your plate was clean. After all, there were children starving in India (or Africa or whatever other country your parent wanted to insert, which they all did, at least among my friends). I can remember a few memorable nights where I was left sitting alone at the kitchen table, ice cold fish lying on the plate and my mother checking in periodically to make sure I didn't try something clever like hiding it in my napkin. (Although my Golden Retriever, Sunshine, ate all of my Brussel sprouts for 15 years, even she would not eat this fish.)

Anyway I'm not sure if it was that particular night or maybe the night my mother served liver or the night she served this gelatinous glop called aspic, but I vowed, like Scartlett in Gone with the Wind that I would NEVER make my kids clean their plates. Instead I instituted the No Thank You portion, a spoonful or two of whatever heinous vegetable or entree I was trying to ruin my children's lives with. I felt strongly they should try new things but understood that not everyone liked everything.

I would say this approach was about 50 percent useful (and I'm sure Rachel will disabuse me of even that idea in her part below), but I think it was certainly better than the forced clean plate. So I guess this is one instance where I managed not to fail as a parent which, as all parents know, is basically the bar we're all trying not to fall below.

Rachel here: Ahhhh, yes. The No Thank You portion. How vividly I can picture the two string beans on G's plate. I can still hear the disgruntled mumbles coming from the chair next to mine. Not to blow my mom's mind or anything, but I think she was onto something with this theory. It seems to be a well-established fact that a lot of kids need an invitation of sorts to try new foods. For some kids I know, an actual invitation is all it takes; for most kids, though, bribery seems like a slightly better description. This is where the No Thank You portion succeeded. Foods that were resisted (and we each had/have our own unique dislikes) were presented as mere bites, as teeny bribes that guaranteed access to dessert (which, at least for me, was the point of the main course of dinner when I was growing up) or leaving the table (which was, I think, the point for G...S was hands-down the best eater amongst the three of us as kids). The roadblock on the plate almost always seemed surmountable (except when it was broccoli or cauliflower which, to this day, I can't stand) and, in turn, so did trying new foods.

As you may have noticed, I'm already giving a lot of thought to M and her foray into solid foods. The general theory I've come to subscribe to is that, as when breastfed, little kids (like little babies) know when they are and are not hungry. Because of this, forced eating is a disservice, a move which only succeeds in teaching our kids to override their natural (and correct) instincts about feeding themselves and thrusts them onto the very problematic food trajectory that much of our society is trapped in. The No Thank You Portion, though, both respects the appetite and autonomy of the eater while also nudging kids who'd prefer to judge with their eyes over their tongues out of their comfort zone for just a few bites. Had my mom not done this, G might never have tried watermelon...ever. And I might never have developed the gumption to re-approach broccoli and cauliflower as an adult (and thus never determined that I really do loath them)...and never had the satisfaction of informing my mother that I really don't like them.