Wounded Chicken
Happy Valentine's Day! I invite you to visit my Valentine page - see link at end of blog.
Richard is working late today so we'll celebrate when he gets home about ten. I bought him a great card but can't seem to find it. I bought it early so there would still be a selection and also to be sure I didn't forget. I cleaned the whole house yesterday but don't recall if I saw it or put it somewhere...
As I mentioned yesterday, I have been tired and having a great time getting that way. Problem is, when I tire, my brain becomes less able. I lose more things. People ask questions, even casual ones, and I can't think of answers. It's not that I don't know the answer, I just can't find it in a hurry... oh yes, sometimes I don't remember the answer at all, I must admit. So rather than struggle and maybe "Flood" or "Fish Brain" (terms for when the injured brain becomes overloaded or overwhelmed and processing slows dramaticly) I have a tendency toward escape by giving vague answers, changing the subject or letting people think whatever they are inclined. Sometimes I give the pieces of the answer that easily come to mind even though the pieces really don't stand alone or fit together without the missing parts. Other times, I think I have the answer but am wrong because I don't always recognize how holey my memory is.
We're talking about questions folks ask regarding things I have done, seen, lived or have been told. Things people expect me to know... For a while, I just admitted I couldn't answer right now, but the typical response after I've had to say that a few times is that the person prefers not to be with me or begins to treat me like a half wit. Brain injured folks may not be quick but are usually still as intelligent as they were (or almost). They still have wisdom and thoughts worth sharing... just at a slower pace. My pride gets in the way.
I said all that because I have somehow opened a door of mistrust, disbelief or ridicule in one or more of yesterday's dinner guests... people whose respect and love mean a great deal to me.
I had been thrilled they liked their meal, especially the chicken. They had, as is reasonable asked questions about how I prepared it. I knew it was frozen and I had added capers and artichokes... but I wasn't coming up with much else. Would they understand if I just admitted that I couldn't remember? I doubt it. They asked if it came from a recipe. I didn't really remember that either, but I think I changed the subject. Did it come with sauce? I remembered most frozen chicken is infused with a sodium solution of some sort but had no idea what this frozen chicken had except I could recall breaking apart the pieces. Were the tomatoes fresh or canned? Aha! I knew that one! Fresh. I said I would write down how to make it, hoping to be able to. I could check my trash and dig out the package... unless it was in one of the bags Richard hauled away while we cleaned.
Given time and a quiet environment, I was pretty sure I could sort out what I had done. Plus, there was still some left which I could examine. "Pride goeth before a fall." I should have just said, "I can't answer right now. There's too much going on; I'm too tired, or I may have forgotten temporarily or forever."
So, this morning, I wrote down everything I could recall about making the dish. I did pretty well but couldn't remember the name of the chicken. I went to the trash. One bag in the newly lined trash can. I opened it. There was the chicken container, already sorted out from under leek stalks, potato peels and other garbage. Someone had already gone through my garbage!
At first, I was elated. What a blessing not to have to fish around in the trash. Then I thought about it. Brian and Athena had gone out with their dog a while. Kim had gone to the door and looked at them briefly, coming right back in. No one came in and said they found what chicken I had used... because the issue was they obviously thought my evasiveness or lack of specificity was deliberate. And if that be so, I can certainly not blame them since I was so obtuse, though it deeply wounds me nonetheless.
What then? Do they suspect I buy a frozen entree and say I have prepared it in some desperate attempt to convince my children I am now proficient in the kitchen? What a sad, tragic figure they must think I am! Admittedly, they grew up in a house with one who was not a cook and didn't pretend to be. My children were all better culinary artists than I, and and probably still are. But you see it is not cooking that is at issue here. It is trust and respect. It says so much... It makes me feel so estranged from the very people I so long to be close to.
What hurts is that they would think these things and have a joke about it, so willing to assume the worst. Again, who invited this, me alone. None of our children have spent a lot of time near or with us in years. Geography, careers, their growing families... None of us are the same people we were twenty years ago. In many ways they really don't know us all that well.
But God has definitely sent the message and I will just admit when I can't think. I know people look at you in disbelief when you do that, but I have caused myself grief of a deeper kind by trying to pass for normal.
Anyway, the chicken was great and here's how to make it...
Start with frozen Chicken Piccata by Michael Angelo (bought at Sam's) Thaw most the way, then separate the chicken from the other stuff. The artichokes and tomatoes are very mushy and look gross, throw them in the toilet. What's left is watery and flat, but keep it.
Sautee 2 cut up artichoke hearts (or you could use jarred) in butter with a bit of EVOO to keep the butter from scorching. Cook just until slightly tender, don't overcook or they'll come out like what went in the toilet.
Scald 2 tomatoes and peel. Cut into nice chunks. Add the sauce that came with the chicken to skillet along with the tomatoes and their juice. Squirt in a couple squeezes of lemon juice from a plastic or fresh lemon plus a small amount of onion juice (you can buy onion juice, you don't squeeze it from onions).
Add 2 teaspoons capers and some of caper juice. Yes, there are some capers in the original sauce, but not many. Sprinkle liberally with Paula Dean's seasoning (salt, pepper and garlic powder) and add about 2 teaspoons Tony's Creole seasoning. Also, add a nice big pinch of each of these: thyme, rosemary, sage and dill.
Mix a small amount of flour in half a cup of V-8 juice and shake well before stirring into the skillet. Remember, this was a frozen thing so there was some fluid before we started, but not enough. The V-8 adds a tad of flavor and the flour gives the sauce a touch of substance.
Finally, throw in about a quarter cup chopped wide-leaf parsley, and simmer for a few minutes, stirring as you go.
Butter a baking dish and pour small amount of sauce on bottom. Arrange the chicken pieces, and pour the remaining sauce over them. Dot with butter, then sprinkle with red pepper flakes and some of Paula Dean's seasoning.
Bake covered at 375 for 30 minutes, then uncovered for another 15 to 25 minutes.
Well, there it is, I think I remember all the ingredients. I hope you enjoy making it, too. I did.
Here's a link to my Valentine page:
http://ionanet.com/press/cards/heart.htm
Richard is working late today so we'll celebrate when he gets home about ten. I bought him a great card but can't seem to find it. I bought it early so there would still be a selection and also to be sure I didn't forget. I cleaned the whole house yesterday but don't recall if I saw it or put it somewhere...
As I mentioned yesterday, I have been tired and having a great time getting that way. Problem is, when I tire, my brain becomes less able. I lose more things. People ask questions, even casual ones, and I can't think of answers. It's not that I don't know the answer, I just can't find it in a hurry... oh yes, sometimes I don't remember the answer at all, I must admit. So rather than struggle and maybe "Flood" or "Fish Brain" (terms for when the injured brain becomes overloaded or overwhelmed and processing slows dramaticly) I have a tendency toward escape by giving vague answers, changing the subject or letting people think whatever they are inclined. Sometimes I give the pieces of the answer that easily come to mind even though the pieces really don't stand alone or fit together without the missing parts. Other times, I think I have the answer but am wrong because I don't always recognize how holey my memory is.
We're talking about questions folks ask regarding things I have done, seen, lived or have been told. Things people expect me to know... For a while, I just admitted I couldn't answer right now, but the typical response after I've had to say that a few times is that the person prefers not to be with me or begins to treat me like a half wit. Brain injured folks may not be quick but are usually still as intelligent as they were (or almost). They still have wisdom and thoughts worth sharing... just at a slower pace. My pride gets in the way.
I said all that because I have somehow opened a door of mistrust, disbelief or ridicule in one or more of yesterday's dinner guests... people whose respect and love mean a great deal to me.
I had been thrilled they liked their meal, especially the chicken. They had, as is reasonable asked questions about how I prepared it. I knew it was frozen and I had added capers and artichokes... but I wasn't coming up with much else. Would they understand if I just admitted that I couldn't remember? I doubt it. They asked if it came from a recipe. I didn't really remember that either, but I think I changed the subject. Did it come with sauce? I remembered most frozen chicken is infused with a sodium solution of some sort but had no idea what this frozen chicken had except I could recall breaking apart the pieces. Were the tomatoes fresh or canned? Aha! I knew that one! Fresh. I said I would write down how to make it, hoping to be able to. I could check my trash and dig out the package... unless it was in one of the bags Richard hauled away while we cleaned.
Given time and a quiet environment, I was pretty sure I could sort out what I had done. Plus, there was still some left which I could examine. "Pride goeth before a fall." I should have just said, "I can't answer right now. There's too much going on; I'm too tired, or I may have forgotten temporarily or forever."
So, this morning, I wrote down everything I could recall about making the dish. I did pretty well but couldn't remember the name of the chicken. I went to the trash. One bag in the newly lined trash can. I opened it. There was the chicken container, already sorted out from under leek stalks, potato peels and other garbage. Someone had already gone through my garbage!
At first, I was elated. What a blessing not to have to fish around in the trash. Then I thought about it. Brian and Athena had gone out with their dog a while. Kim had gone to the door and looked at them briefly, coming right back in. No one came in and said they found what chicken I had used... because the issue was they obviously thought my evasiveness or lack of specificity was deliberate. And if that be so, I can certainly not blame them since I was so obtuse, though it deeply wounds me nonetheless.
What then? Do they suspect I buy a frozen entree and say I have prepared it in some desperate attempt to convince my children I am now proficient in the kitchen? What a sad, tragic figure they must think I am! Admittedly, they grew up in a house with one who was not a cook and didn't pretend to be. My children were all better culinary artists than I, and and probably still are. But you see it is not cooking that is at issue here. It is trust and respect. It says so much... It makes me feel so estranged from the very people I so long to be close to.
What hurts is that they would think these things and have a joke about it, so willing to assume the worst. Again, who invited this, me alone. None of our children have spent a lot of time near or with us in years. Geography, careers, their growing families... None of us are the same people we were twenty years ago. In many ways they really don't know us all that well.
But God has definitely sent the message and I will just admit when I can't think. I know people look at you in disbelief when you do that, but I have caused myself grief of a deeper kind by trying to pass for normal.
Anyway, the chicken was great and here's how to make it...
Start with frozen Chicken Piccata by Michael Angelo (bought at Sam's) Thaw most the way, then separate the chicken from the other stuff. The artichokes and tomatoes are very mushy and look gross, throw them in the toilet. What's left is watery and flat, but keep it.
Sautee 2 cut up artichoke hearts (or you could use jarred) in butter with a bit of EVOO to keep the butter from scorching. Cook just until slightly tender, don't overcook or they'll come out like what went in the toilet.
Scald 2 tomatoes and peel. Cut into nice chunks. Add the sauce that came with the chicken to skillet along with the tomatoes and their juice. Squirt in a couple squeezes of lemon juice from a plastic or fresh lemon plus a small amount of onion juice (you can buy onion juice, you don't squeeze it from onions).
Add 2 teaspoons capers and some of caper juice. Yes, there are some capers in the original sauce, but not many. Sprinkle liberally with Paula Dean's seasoning (salt, pepper and garlic powder) and add about 2 teaspoons Tony's Creole seasoning. Also, add a nice big pinch of each of these: thyme, rosemary, sage and dill.
Mix a small amount of flour in half a cup of V-8 juice and shake well before stirring into the skillet. Remember, this was a frozen thing so there was some fluid before we started, but not enough. The V-8 adds a tad of flavor and the flour gives the sauce a touch of substance.
Finally, throw in about a quarter cup chopped wide-leaf parsley, and simmer for a few minutes, stirring as you go.
Butter a baking dish and pour small amount of sauce on bottom. Arrange the chicken pieces, and pour the remaining sauce over them. Dot with butter, then sprinkle with red pepper flakes and some of Paula Dean's seasoning.
Bake covered at 375 for 30 minutes, then uncovered for another 15 to 25 minutes.
Well, there it is, I think I remember all the ingredients. I hope you enjoy making it, too. I did.
Here's a link to my Valentine page:
http://ionanet.com/press/cards/heart.htm
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