When Irish Tummies Are Hungry

Once again, forgive the belatedness of this post. Last Thursday, as you all know, was St. Patrick's Day. Hurray! A day of validation for everybody in the country to get pissed--as in drunk. I for one usually skip the green beer and Guinness since I am not much of a drinker. My husband David, however, would probably bathe in Guinness on a daily basis if society permitted. In his opinion, it's the greatest invention since sliced bread. Speaking of bread....

The reason I look forward to March 17th year after year is for the food. Corned beef and cabbage, to be more specific. In my house growing up, my mother always made corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's Day. I vividly remember how giddy my father would become when it was brought to the table. I always ate it and enjoyed it--afterall, I can count on one hand the number of foods I don't like--but I don't think I ever truly appreciated the meal until I was a little older. Looking back, I see how special it was; the way that turkey is special on Thanksgiving Day. Technically, one could eat corned beef any day of the year, as many do. But to save it for that one special meal, served piping hot with cabbage, potatoes, and carrots on the side is the stuff that true comfort food is made of. And the extra special touch? Irish soda bread...mmmm.....but first, the meat...

I decided to cook a big batch to feed a few of my neighbors. I enjoy cooking for people whenever I can. It leaves me with a very pleased, grandmotherly feeling inside to stuff people senseless. I would've loved to have used my giant Le Crueset dutch oven to cook the corned beef in, simply because I relish any excuse to use it (it's even bright orange so it goes with the Irish flag!), but the day fell on a Thursday, so I had to leave the job to the old crockpot to handle while I was at work. Between the 5 lb. hunk of beef, the head of cabbage, six potatoes, and several carrots, there was no way it was going to all fit in my dinky crockpot. I ended up having to borrow my neighbor Becky's extra large sized crockpot and actually ended up splitting all of the ingredients in two--even the XL pot couldn't hold all the food. So, side by side, the crockpot neighbors did their thing while I brought home my share of the bacon. Just a figure of speech of course--there's no bacon in my corned beef and cabbage!

I had it all planned out. I would arrive home from work with the food cooked to completion, and I would be all ready to get my June McCleaver on and serve. I was a little distressed to discover that my crockpot seemed to outdo the XL one by quite a bit. When I removed the covers, my pot was bubbling away like a magical Irish love potion. The beef was falling-apart-tender and the cabbage, carrots, and potatoes were steamy and soft. Perfection. Clearly, my little crockpot's lid does exactly what it's supposed to do--stay tightly sealed so none of the needed steam escapes. The other lid must not have gotten the memo because, while indeed cooked, the meat was much tougher when prodded with a fork, the cabbage still in a crunchier state than the limp, wet (I know, it sounds gross) state it should've been in, and the potatoes and carrots were definitely not fork-tender soft. There was no love potion a-bubblin' here. It was more like a I guess I kinda like you potion that stood pretty still. I cranked the heat up to the high setting and put the lid back on, hoping that maybe an extra 45 minutes or so would soften them up more by the time my neighbors arrived. It didn't help much. It was absolutely edible, but it just wasn't quite as scrumdiddliumptious as the rest of the feast.

The presentation would've been a lot more attractive had I piled it all together on the platter like a true peasant would, but instead I took the opportunity to use my modern, yet retro looking serving bowls to dish out the veggies.


My other opponent--the bread! Irish Soda Bread. Have you ever tried this gem of a baked good? If you haven't, grab your keys, get in your car, and immediately head to your nearest pub, you know, because those are everywhere in America. It's a very dense, floury tasting bread that tastes equally delicious sopping up whatever juice remains of your corned beef or shepherd's pie or just toasted plain with a little butter (my personal favorite). My mother also had this baby cornered. She could bake Irish Soda Bread like it was nobody's business. My sisters and I were all unanimously greedy when it came to this bread. With it's crusty crust and sweet interior, I couldn't get enough of it. It's truly the crack of all breads. Nom, nom, nom....

Moments like these are when I particularly miss my mother, because my bread this year was a complete and utter disaster, and I could have really used her expertise. I took a gamble on an ingredient that did not go my way. These were the ingredients that I used to make the bread:

3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/3 cup white sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 egg, lightly beaten
2 cups buttermilk
1/4 cup butter, melted

Pretty simple, right? All very usual ingredients that I always have on hand. The one thing I did NOT have was buttermilk. I had forgotten this one necessity, but I improvised. I decided to try using powdered buttermilk, which I had on hand. Yes, such a thing exists in the baking aisle.



When liquid is added to a few tablespoons of this stuff, voila!, you have buttermilk. Easy-peazy-Japanezey! But I forgot one very important thing about powdered buttermilk. When using in a recipe, you're supposed to add the powder to your dry ingredients, THEN add whatever amount of water is required to equal the amount of buttermilk the recipe calls for. My brain was clearly somewhere else. I decided to make two loaves of bread so there would be plenty. Rather than mix two loaves worth of ingredients all in one bowl and divide between two baking pans, I decided to do each loaf back to back. I have a very large bowl, but I was concerned that with the amount of ingredients I was using it would be spilling over the edges and I would have flour all over my kitchen. The recipe I decided to use this year, in leau of my favorite Julia Child Irish Soda Bread Recipe, which tastes almost identical to my mother's(that was my first mistake), called for me to mix the egg and buttermilk together. Hmmm...but I was using powdered stuff. Would this still work? So I mixed the powder with my egg and added it to the dry ingredients. This was when I was supposed to add the water. Did I remember to do that? Nooooo. I couldn't understand why my dough was so abysmally dry! The water step was a million miles away from my mind, probably in Dublin getting drunk on Guinness. So I decided to soften up the dough with some milk--plain, skim milk. I probably added a cup's worth. I wasn't sure if it would work, but I figured I had a second loaf to possibly do a better job on. It was then that the water step I'd missed dawned on me. "Oh, ffffffffarfegnugen!!" I screamed. I was only halfway through and I'd already screwed this up. I'm not entirely sure I even followed through correctly on the second loaf either.

I mixed the powder with the egg once again, but for whatever reason I added the water directly to that mixture before dumping it all into the other dry ingredients. I'm not sure if that was the right or wrong thing to do, but either way, it didn't produce a fantastic result. Loaf number one spewed in the oven like a doughy volcano. It literally barfed all over itself in it's pan and onto the oven floor. Loaf number two stayed in its pan, browned nicely, but still didn't turn out how I'd hoped.



The crust was not a crispy crust and the interior had the texture of a poundcake rather than a bread. It didn't even taste like real Irish Soda Bread. It tasted more like a biscuit--still good, but NOT soda bread. I was so disappointed. It was just all wrong from start to finish. But I like to think of every single cooking/baking session as a learning experience, and what I learned is this:

1. Never cheat on Julia Child. She is the Messiah of all kitchens, and to cheat on her bread is like selling your soul to the devil.

2. If a recipe holds such importance that it could be compared to crack, just use real buttermilk and save the powdered stuff for the pancakes on Sunday!

3. Use an oven liner. They're worth their weight in gold.

Lesson learned!! I'm still slightly bitter that I didn't get to feast on real Irish Soda Bread on St. Patrick's Day, but it's not the end of the world. At least now I know if I'm ever in the mood for biscuit bread, I've got it in the bag!

What did YOU eat for St. Patrick's Day?

Better Late Than Never

Yeah, so I'm a little late for a New Years speech. I decided that my last post of 2010 was so brutally depressing (for both myself and probably the two people who read it) that I wanted to stay away for a while. There was no need to further bum anybody out during the holidays. I do, however, want to clarify one thing about my last post. I went back and reread what I wrote, and I feel as if I came off very harsh about my feelings on people around me being pregnant. I am never, ever in no way unhappy or angry for anybody who announces they are with child. Let's just get that straight. I have sisters, cousins, friends, aquaintences, etc. who have all been pregnant/had children in the last several years, and I have been genuinely happy for every single one of them. Does it sometimes remind me that I am UNpregnant? Of course. Does that sometimes lead me to indulge in such grand pity parties that chilled champagne might as well be served? Absolutely. Do I sometimes feel pressure from family members to hurry up and birth some babies which then leads to more inner-anxiety? Damn straight. Am I human? Yes, the last time I checked (despite the name of this blog). So you now know this about me. I'm a human being who is both capable of feeling happy for others while at the same time occasionally falling into the slippery slope of wallowing in self-loathing. SUE ME.

However, I always pick up my chin and grin and say....Woops! Got off track! Anyways...

Winter is already at an end here in Florida, which I'm kind of sad about. I was really enjoying all the windows in the house being open constantly. Already I'm beginning to feel that heaviness in the air that starts to linger when the heat returns--my hair is very afraid. I haven't made the move yet to actually turn the A/C on yet, but I know it's coming. Sadly, with winter, our poor grass hasn't made it. My husband and father-in-law bravely installed a sprinkler system themselves in the early summer--a fete that one would think would keep our lawn looking crispy green! But when a project that supposedly will only only take a weekend to complete snowballs into a three week long fiasco, the lawn undoubtedly suffers for it. Needless to say, by the time the system was a go, our green, velvety grass took on the appearance of a burned cornfield--brown, dry, and crunchy. (sigh) Next project? Start from scratch, re-sod the yard, and make good use of the fancy-schmancy sprinkler system. Hopefully by early summer we'll be rocking more green velvet than Scarlet O'Hara.

On a pretty ecstatic note, I am delighted to report that my weight loss is moving along swimmingly. As of my last weigh in, I've lost a total of 42.8 lbs since the first week of September. Weight Watchers introduced their new program in late November, and I have to say, I really love it. I've been making so many changes in the way I eat, look at food, think about food, everything. I've also started to really pay attention to trigger foods, which are the foods that might as well have a DANGER sign attached to them. For me, these are things like chips and chocolate. Once I have one, it's very hard to stop, so it's better to try and avoid them as much as possible. I've also been cooking a lot of great meals. Why on earth did I think that eating healthier meant no yummy foods?? I have been so wrong about that way of thinking that's it's actually pretty scary. I'll have to post some colorful dishes very soon...

Some of the best parts of losing weight? I forgot how darn GOOD it feels. I forgot how good it feels to get into that pair of Old Navy jeans that I've had forever--my favorite pair from when Old Navy actually still made decent jeans with the correct inseams--that I hadn't been able to squeeze into in several years. I forgot how good it feels to look in the mirror and actually start to see your face again; to see YOU. Just this past week I actually looked at myself and said the words, "Oh there you are." I forgot how good it feels to open the box of "skinny clothes" that's been buried in the back of my guestroom closet and see all the beautiful items that I can't fit into yet, but almost can, and will. I forgot how good it feels to walk and jog (or some semi-pathetic version of jogging) and not feel like I'm standing at death's door afterwards. Best of all, it just feels great knowing that I'm eating healthier, behaving healthier, and getting healthier. It's simply mah-vell-uss!!

Some of the downfalls to losing weight? Are there any? Sort of. With weight loss comes its share of battles and trepidation. Most of the time I feel like I am on high-alert. I have to be aware at all times of what I'm eating and how much. During the week when I'm at work it isn't so bad. It's more routine than anything. The weekends are trickier because I don't always know where I'm going to be, and what food will be served. It's about CONTROL. If the control isn't in my hands, I tend to feel overwhelmed and as if I'm screwing my whole week's effort up. It can be a little exhausting sometimes.

There's also the fear that I'm being annoying. Annoying? Why would your losing weight be annoying? Well, in a perfect world it wouldn't be, but I know that having someone around who is constantly asking things like What did you cook that with? What kind of oil is that? Are those canned vegetables or fresh? Can we possibly eat at this restaurant instead of that one because that one isn't very point-friendly? can wear down on people. It's MY thing, MY issue, and I know it has to drive people a little crazy sometimes. It's hard trying to completely alter your lifestyle when no one else around you is. It's very HARD. Ultimately, I try and keep my Weight Watchers talk to a limit when around certain people. I'm proud of my accomplishments so far, but this journey is really for myself and myself only. I figure, why turn myself into a pariah while on the journey? Does anyone have any thoughts on that?

So far, 2011 is shaping up to be a more positive year than 2010 was by far. Hopefully I will be a little more diligent about posting. In the meantime, take care everyone!

Blue Christmas (Warning: Do Not Read If You're Actually Feeling Happy)

So it's the Christmas season. Yes, I said Christmas. In this uber politically correct world we live in, I am not afraid to state what I actually celebrate. So there! As I was saying, it's the Christmas season--the season of joy, giving, and going broke. Christmas is definitely my thing. I can listen to the music day and day out, I watch all the tv specials that revert me back to a five year old, and I even enjoy the insanity inside the stores. It's the whole mad-cap package that tickles me. This year however, I find myself feeling very down.

Do you know that feeling when you have to force yourself to smile, and it's almost borderline painful when you actually do? That's kind of how I've been feeling lately. I think it stems from being fairly unorganized this year and with funds being tighter than usual. Gone are the days of Christmas bonuses. This crappy economy forced all of my coworkers and I to take a pay-cut this past year--a BIG pay cut--so it's been kind of a scary year. I know Christmas is not supposed to be about presents. Heck, I went to Catholic school for thirteen years. I know exactly what Christmas is all about. But it still doesn't make me feel any better when I receive these lovely things from friends and family and have barely anything to return the favor, especially to the people I care about the most. It makes me feel like poop actually. Money is so tight that several times a day I find myself burying my face in my palms with a huge sigh, sometimes even having to escape to the ladies room to shed a few solitary tears. It hasn't been a day at the beach.

Of course I am also reminded that this is another Christmas where I don't have a baby yet. I just turned thirty two a couple months ago. When my mother my age she had four children. FOUR. I've been getting asked a lot lately when my husband and I are going to have a baby--a question that I now understand why people should think before they ask it--and I fear I might go postal on the next person who inquires about the goings-on of my uterus. Nobody wants to actually have to tell someone that yes, we want children. We want them very badly. In fact, we've been trying for two years and it hasn't happend yet, a fact which causes my heart to break every single time yet another person I know announces that they are pregnant. That would be awfully awkward to explain, wouldn't it? Yeah, I think so.

So all in all, so far it's been a very blue Christmas season, and here I am having my own holiday pity-party. (Did anybody bring punch??) I'm trying my best to push past these icky feelings and just be thankful for the things I do have--family, a roof over my head, etc.--but some days are harder than others. I'm usually quite good at looking at the positive side of things, but I'm struggling this year with that. I need a Christmas miracle...or something. Seriously, did anybody bring punch? Spiked punch preferably? Anybody?

I Knew We'd See Each Other Again Someday, Barbie!!

This is a rather silly post, but I was so excited yesterday when I came upon this little gem that I couldn't resist. I popped into Target yesterday on my lunch hour (one of my favorite places to pop) to get some dog biscuits and treats for my hungry little love muffin at home, when I just happened to walk through the toy aisle. No matter how old I get I still always wander there and admire the Barbie dolls. Barbies were my favorite as a child. I actually played with Barbies till I was probably twelve or thirteen, a tad senior to have been doing so. Puberty finally came between us, and Barbie and all her clones found themselves parked in the toy closet for eternity.

I didn't often play favorites with my dolls or with the outfits they wore, but once in a while something really special would come along. In the year 1985, I had a thing for the color peach. It was my signature color. I wore peach clothes, peach barettes in my hair, peach jelly shoes, peach everything. That was the year I received the Peaches'n'Cream Barbie for either my birthday or Christmas (the details are a little fuzzy). She was the most magical Barbie of all Barbies to me. Why? Because she had a peach gown, that's why!! The bustier was white with little sparkles, an orange band around the waist with a flower, and a flowing long peach skirt--complete with ruffle and matching peach boa. Ahhh...so dreamy....

So I'm admiring all the Barbie dolls in Target. As I'm studying Barbie's newer, modern features--her legs and feet are larger now and her face is not quite as girl-next-door as it once was but instead more a sultry sex-kitten--and suddenly, there it was...

THE PEACHES'N'CREAM BARBIE COLLECTORS ITEM!!!! I DIED!!!!!

She was just like I remembered her. It was like running into an old friend, but preserved in her perfect, glowing, peachy glory. She even had her girl-next-door face back. I contemplated whether or not to buy it--it was $39.95 on sale. Ouch. As much as I wanted to, I decided that my husband would probably kill me if I brought home a $40 doll that I had no intention of playing with. Nobody could possibly understand the depth to which this particular doll and dress is a part of me, etched into my childhood memory like a beautiful phantom, etched into my soul like a first kiss.

We'll find a way to be together though. It will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine....

Rage Against the Machine

So kittens, it's been a while since I've posted. There's been no particular reason, other than I just got caught up in other things. This is not unusual for me when it comes to any type of writing. For example, I've been writing short stories since I was about ten years old and I seem to have a love/hate relationship with the process. I have a story I've been writing for the last year and a half--a much longer, more complicated story--and sometimes I dive into it whenever I get a spare minute, all wrapped up in my characters. Other times I don't even want to look at it. But that's a post for another day....

What else have I been up to? Aha! Yes! Making big life changes. I finally got my mojo back and decided to join Weight Watchers. This is a very touchy subject with me, but I'll go ahead and put it out there. I didn't start to struggle with my weight till I was in college. I believe this was when I began to deal with my mother's death, who passed away very unexpectedly during my sophomore year in high school. My first couple years of college were fun years, but by that third year I was living some very dark days. I was binging and packing on pounds but I didn't give a crapola one bit. I was so depressed and miserable and felt very, very alone in the world. I could kick myself now for behaving that way, as it wasn't healthy physically or mentally, but it is what it is.

A few years later, after living a very unhappy chubbo lifestyle, I literally woke up one day and decided I'd had enough. I wanted to join Weight Watchers and I couldn't get to a meeting fast enough. Something had cracked in my psyche (I love that expression--it sounds so Twilight Zone) and I proceeded to drop weight like it was nobody's business. 2004 was my year of HELL YEAH. I was like a machine. You couldn't tempt with me with chocolate, fast food, nothing! I lost 67 pounds that year, and I wasn't even done.

And then the machine broke.

My now-husband, who was then just my friend, moved back to Florida and we began dating. Right then and there I should've caught myself when I slipped. You know how it is when you start a relationship with somebody. You get completely wrapped up in What are we doing this weekend?...Okay, I'll stay a little longer (even though I should be going on my 3 mile walk this morning)...Ooh, where are we eating tonight? I blame nobody but myself. I knew I had a job to do--follow my points, drink water, exercise--but I blew it. I was so in love and enjoying this new romantic relationship that I slowly but surely started neglecting the machine. Mr. Wonderful would even ask me if I was supposed to be having this or that (not because he was trying to prevent me from gaining weight--he's not THAT type of guy--but because he knew I had worked so, so hard to get the weight off) and I would totally blow it off like oh yeah, this is in my points! I was lying through my teeth to my own self, and I actually believed it. I soldiered on in my romance, and at some point Weight Watchers fell to the back burner all together.

So where am I now, almost six years later? I'm happily married to Mr. Wonderful and am the owner of a great home and doggie, BUT, now I'm Mrs. Chubbo. In fact, I'm even worse. Not only did I gain back all of the weight I lost--which is so unbelievably humiliating for me to even write at this moment--but I gained even more. So now I'm even heavier than I was to begin with, and I have been stark raving miserable on the inside because of it. I'm not living my life the way a 31 year old should be. I've been literally hiding from everything and everyone. I even hide on Facebook. I can't bare to post any recent pictures of myself (they're a rarity at this point anyway because the act of getting my picture taken is a humiliating experience for me in itself and I avoid it at all costs) because I'm so furious at myself for how I look. I'm a mere shell of my former self--the happier, go-getter self I know I am buried somewhere deep inside. In a nutshell, it's gotten so out of hand, and I'm so angry at myself for throwing all of my hard earned work right out the window that despite many other joys in my life, I'm not in a good place. The machine may as well have turned into a rusty old '57 Chevy.

But then something happened recently. I don't know what it was exactly. My brain began to feel this itch; a pull. Something was rattling around up there like a ping-pong ball. And then it happened--it cracked! Hallelujah! My psyche cracked once again (doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-dooooooo...) and I had a focus come over me like I haven't felt in years--six to be exact. Kind of like the way the car did in that Stephan King movie Christine, I resurrected myself. I shook the rust and the dirt off and revved. I took myself to the nearest Weight Watchers meeting and began my quest for inner peace, health, and happiness. I lost six pounds in my very first week. Six. It was very symbolic to me--like a pound for each year of this roller coaster. I'm currently in my second week and still plowing through. This time I'm not stopping. I'm no longer going to use the excuse that just because I'm married and don't necessarily have the time to devote 100% of my time to me and only me, that I still can't do this. I know I can. I did it before, but this time I'm carrying something along with me--knowledge. I know now how easy it is to slide back into old habits and dangerous behavior. I know how happy I once felt with myself, and how unhappy I feel now. I know that if I just stick with the plan, that it DOES and WILL work, and that if I don't stick to the plan, it won't. I've got my oil can and wrench beside me to keep the machine tuned, except in my world the oil can and wrench is a bottle of water and a carrot stick.

Don't Fence Me In

Or in this case, please do! I never realized my whole life how expensive it is to put in a fence until I wanted one. We live on a corner lot, so our back yard is extremely exposed to the street. I guess we hadn't given that a whole lot of thought when we built the house. We figured, no problem, we'll just put a fence in! Easier said than done.

We're practical people, so we decided it would be worth it to go the extra mile and get the vinyl fence vs. wood, since vinyl doesn't need to be replaced. We happen to have a family friend who owns a fencing company and said he would give us a great deal. Yahoo!! The difference that he quoted us between vinyl and wood was $2,000. Yes, $2,000. Big difference. That made for a tough decision. Despite living in one these newer neighborhoods where the houses are built a bit close together, we have quite a large yard, so there was a lot of fence to cover. In the end, we decided to go with the wood. We're in a recession people! Pictures soon to follow...

...Last night I didn't feel like cooking at all. It was rainy and miserable, and I am in a crunch to finish the book I'm reading for a book club I just joined, so all I wanted to do was sit down and read when I got home. I didn't seem to have a thing in the house that could be cooked quickly, so I consulted the freezer. I am a big fan of freezing leftovers, and luckily had a nice batch of sausage and lentil stew just dying for me to reheat. It was the perfect fix for a lazy, rainy evening.


That's some spicy sausage!

Waitor, there is too much pepper on my paprikas...

....but I would be proud to partake of your pecan pie.

I couldn't resist reciting that line from "When Harry Met Sally" out loud last night as I was making dinner. Yesterday I had a rather awful day at work. It was one of those days when all the crazies seem to crawl out of their caves at once and unleash their cranky-hyperventilating-stubborn-looniness on the world. Keep in mind, I don't work in a hospital. I work in a law firm!

The hubby was out for the evening, so I was looking forward to a nice, quiet, and relaxing few hours all by myself. My dog Nella was there of course, but she's the silent type and gladly listens to me whine. Before I left work I decided I would cook myself a nice dinner since I haven't done a lot of cooking lately. We live on a very social street with neighbors who have us over quite often to eat, and lately it's been very often, so these days I think my kitchen may be a little mad at me. I've been wanting to make Paprikas Csirke, otherwise known as Chicken Paprika, from my Joy of Cooking cookbook. I have the 2006 75th Anniversary edition and I love it to pieces.

I had all of the ingredients I needed except for the chicken, so I grabbed some on the way home. The recipe called for 3 1/2-4 1/2 pounds chicken parts. Hmmm, but which parts exactly? It wasn't specific so I went with thighs and drumsticks. Dutifully, I pre-measured out all of my ingredients so I'd be ready to go. In the mix were a gazillion thinly sliced onions, a quarter cup sweet paprika (I use the good Hungarian sweet paprika), a cup and a half of chicken stock, two tablespoons of garlic, a bay leaf, salt and pepper, sour cream, and of course my trusty chicken parts. Lots of good, basic ingredients right? This should be a snap! I'll be watching "Family Guy" with a plate full of orangey colored chicken in no time....Ha...Ha.

Cooking this meal took forever. Was it easy? Yes. But there were so many steps, and quite frankly so many damn pieces of chicken that make up four pounds that have to be browned (without crowding) on both sides for 5 minutes each, and various steps of thickening the sauce it cooked in, that by the time I prepared the ingredients and cooked the meal from start to finish, I wasted over two hours! The browning of the chicken alone took over a half hour. On top of that the onions had to be cooked and the sauce created, which also had to simmer. The chicken got put back in the sauce and had to simmer till it registered about 180 degrees on a meat thermometer. According to the book, it estimated 20-30 minutes. Uh, yeah right. Try 45-55 minutes. You'd think it would be done at this point, but I had to remove the chicken AGAIN and thicken the sauce in two stages--by itself and then with the addition of sour cream. At last it was finished! Was it worth it? The sauce was, most definitely. I would love to make the sauce again to jazz up boneless, skinless chicken breasts or maybe even pork chops, but I don't think I'll ever prepare the overall meal listed in the book. The chicken was tender and juicy, but the skin was pretty soggy by the end of it. Using bone-in chicken like that just takes way too long, especially on a weeknight. The whole point of my making this meal was to unwind and relax, but I never got a chance to even do so till around 9pm. Lesson learned! I ate it over some white rice and I do have to say it was pretty darn tasty.




The Stuff


Brown, damn you!




Sort of looks like the Valentine's Day Massacre, doesn't it?


This is not the most appetizing picture. I forgot to get a picture when I first got the sauce done. This was my dumping some of the leftovers into corningware. But I promise, the sauce is excellent!