Jes was born and raised on the West Coast, I on the East. We met each other on a computer game, swapped phone numbers, and the rest is history. When she moved out here in Oct '11, there was a lot for each of us to learn about food. For me, it was living outside our parents' homes for the first time and not having a meal plan which prompted my roommate and I to tackle the stove with hand-me-down cookware and secondhand experience. Needless to say, Jes's first memory of my roommate was hearing him scream, "Why do you hate me!?" as napalm rained down upon his white-collar hands while he attempted to stir fry in our wok. Afterward, we purchased a mesh, splatter-proof shield only to discover that improperly heated oil knows no bounds.
For Jes, it was opening up to new and different ingredients and meals. At the onset of our long-distance relationship, I did not know just how particular she was in her diet. Diet, in the sense of "the food you eat." Not vegan, pescetarian, paleo, or even Atkins. Just choosing to eat some foods and not others. Preferential eating, I might say. Like, how my brother didn't eat mushrooms when we were growing up; or how my half-Italian mother doesn't like pasta. Jes and I even survived the cross-country trek together before I realized how deep-rooted her distaste for certain foods was. I say now, in hindsight, how surprising it is that she ate beef carpaccio with our generous hosts in Chicago. Reminding her of that momentous occasion seems to have been the key to unlocking more common dishes to her palate.
After moving here, she's added "no-thank-you portion" to her vocabulary, which her landlord explained as taking a trial portion, but when asked about having seconds, you politely respond, "No, thank you." But until that point, first impressions were as difficult to stomach as the foods she "just didn't eat." Among them? Soup. We laugh about this now, because soup is a very broad term. Now, Jes would say her favorite soup is Riviera minestrone; back then, it was her only soup. This point might have proved integral to the conversion in that stores out here didn't stock that brand. The one can of it we still have in our cupboard was shipped here courtesy of her mother, and I begin to wonder if Jes is aware of its presence.
My endeavors in the kitchen started way back when Jes and I were only typing to each other, or calling each other late at night, or sky-rocketing through the limits of my family's texting plan. One of her many nicknames online—and probably the most applicable—was GP. It originally stood for the name she'd given herself, "getting pwned." After a while of relating, it came to also stand for "guinea pig." We effectively agreed to be each other's taste-testers for meals we would eventually cook for one another. Even to this day, she fears the consequences of that decision, because we are very different when it comes to cooking.
In my mind, Jes is like salt. Jes also likes salt, and that might be why I say this. Salt goes with EVERYTHING. And she doesn't like sweet dinners, so her culinary approach is more conventional, I would say. She likes casseroles, one-dish meals, and not often will she make something with the idea of a "side." She also prefers to follow recipes, which I'm thankful for because she likes to bake. After all, that's a science, where there's seldom room for error.
I, on the other hand, am like pepper. Usually, I tag along with salt wherever it goes, but sometimes I go my own route. Where salt is the foundation of flavor, ground pepper is the beginning of seasoning. Salt is never the star of a dish, but by the same measure you can tell when it's lacking. Salt is common; pepper is bold. And I admit, growing up I never used the pepper-shaker. It was a lost flavor to me. Now? I'm all about experimentation, exploring new combinations, new pairings, reinventing recipes. I rarely measure, and my mother hates it, especially when I create something she's interested in making herself. And I don't bake. I leave that to minds more methodical.
It's amazing that, as well as the two go together, they're still marketed in separate containers. Jes and I clearly have different styles, owing as much to our upbringing as to our tastes. She grew up within miles of San Francisco, with the best Mexican and the worst Asian. I grew up within miles of New York City, with the worst Mexican and the best Asian. Now, relationally speaking, we get along like salt and pepper. But in the kitchen? The age-old expression rings true: too many cooks spoil the broth. Salt wants one thing, and pepper the other. What we've learned? We don't interfere with each other's dish...unless asked. Many a bad memory, argument and fight have resulted from trying to cook together. As the heat goes up, somebody is bound to get out, and that's a painful reality.
Now, I wouldn't trade any part of our relationship to be that couple who takes on dinner like a debut performance of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. In reality, we're more like the premier showing of Stravinsky's Riot of Spring (kudos if you see what I did there); but if on all other counts we are perfect for each other, that is a worthy trade-off. As it stands, we are becoming less and less one another's guinea pig and are beginning to showcase our abilities to other mouths. And since Jes's cooking skills stem from tradition, my avant-garde tactics seem to hold a greater chance for disappointment.
There are some meals which come along, now and again, which I would never make again. Perhaps I messed with a good thing, or perhaps I really had no idea what I was doing. Such failures are inevitable and necessary for the learning process, and since this blog exists for the purpose of documenting our highs and lows in the kitchen, you can expect no mincing of words. If a meal was horrible, it will be flagged; if it was borderline divine, I'll probably break out into French. I'm not classically trained, but...I did graduate from a Cook College.
I've actually been in the business of chronicling my food creations since they arose, but blogging about them or even daring to assemble recipes for them was only first suggested by a friend ten months ago. You can see my enthusiasm in responding to the request. In actuality, the delay in showing any interest for such comes after settling much stress previously held. I am, after all, a married man now. So it is to you, JD, that I direct all fingers of blame regarding the success or failure of this site. May you one day be our guinea pig.
To the best of my ability, I hope to present Jes's and my experiences—both individual and collaborative—in fluid manner, for those interested in the educational side of things. It only took me four years to clue into how to stop burning oil. Don't expect me to go Alton Brown, but I do like to apply science when it's not the be-all and end-all to cooking. After all, pepper is an acquired taste, a piece of art; it needs the proper surroundings to really shine. So, without further ado:
8.19.2017
10.29.2016
A 30-Year-Old Egg
Hallowe'en is coming, and you know what that means? Eggs. Worse than getting TPed, I've never actually seen a house get egged, short of perhaps in a movie scene. But apparently it's a thing, and it's partly the only reason I'm bringing it up in conjunction with All Saints' Eve.
Now, I don't like eggs, but I'll eat them. And you'll note here my favorite way to eat eggs, at least when they're explicitly present in a meal. But, strange as it may be, when we go out to eat and I am in the mood for eggs, boiled is hardly on the menu. I've actually tried to order them at least thrice, with responses that ranged from the obvious "we don't have" to the humorous "you mean for a salad?" Needless to say, I regularly order omelettes instead.
I've actually been in the habit of eating omelettes since college, where the food seemed endless and I actually had time to eat breakfast after my first class. Everybody's favorite chef was Omelette Guy, where he'd give you every option imaginable for him to craft your very own 3-egg omelette. The nutritional value was always a question but never an issue in anyone's mind.
How Not to Make an Omelette
I faintly remember having made an omelette before, but knowing how memories work and the likelihood of the whole thought being fabricated, plus the fact that I have no photographic evidence of it, I've probably never made an omelette before. And that actually makes me feel good, because the specimen you're about to see is so idiotic, I would have no excuse for its concoction had I succeeded at it once.
Allow me to explain my thought process in the initial stages of this obvious faux pas. I was so psyched that I was to create my first omelette that I forgot the single most important step: whipping the eggs. I cracked the shells, peeled them apart, poured them into the sizzling pan, and voilà! started to think that something was amiss. As the thought settled in my mind, I went into the other room to admit my mistake to Jes, who seemed to know instantly what the problem was. I mean, there are very few ways you can fail at making an omelette, especially within the first seconds of sizzling.
Well, not being a fan of sunny-side any-which-way eggs, I stabbed it all with my trusty spatula and made my first batch of scrambled eggs. Of course, I'll still refer to it as an omelette because that's what it was meant to be. The fact that it looks nothing like one was simply an error en route to the plate—or, in this case, the bowl.
I know it doesn't taste any different from an omelette, but its appearance sat in the back of my mind as something not so appetizing. I mean, look at that third quadrant: It's so fluffy! It looks like a Peep exploded into a hundred pieces. And I'm not even a fan of marshmallows, either.
Well, since Jes was practically forcing me to eat my words
More Whisk, Less Risk
Soon, I returned to my weekly breakfast skillet with more confidence in my ability to keep to the code—that being, beat the eggs before you cook them. I know; it's like common sense for an omelette, and if I were reading a recipe, I'd hardly miss that step, but trial and error is as proper a teacher. And, that said, this time still had room for improvement.
I was much happier with myself when I pulled this together: broke 2 eggs, brought out my shootin' hand to mix yolk and albumen as best as I could, then poured the smooth concoction into the buttered pan and tilted it around to fill out the circle. I know the tricks for making pancakes, but this was something new for me, and I still haven't mastered the technique of knowing when to flip it. Maybe my spatula wasn't big enough, or maybe I did well enough and I'm just kidding myself. But the thing that sets this omelette apart from the next is, once again, some amendment of the first step.
I had my ingredients all prepped from the get-go—tomatoes, mushrooms and (I believe) sliced Swiss cheese—but the reason I piled them high in, once again, that third quadrant was simply because it's how I imagined making it at the time. Now, there's nothing wrong with building an omelette like that. It tastes about the same, given those particular ingredients (i.e., vegetables). But the egg became a blanket to the filling, its taste separate and still-so-eggy, something I don't particularly enjoy in my eggs.
Folding this over also proved meddlesome in that I can never decide proper ratios for combining flavors. I know, it's nothing a simple recipe can't fix, but that's just not my style. Good cooking had to start somewhere; it wasn't always mathematical ledger, right? Besides, it's not like either of these came out inedible. They were simply not as good as they should have been.
Living on the Ejjeh
Which brings us to my final omelette of the year (thus far, at least). Once again, still not the "best omelette you've ever had," but definitely, in the line of Saturday-morning cooking, the best yet crafted by yours truly. Even Jes made the face of approval when she had a bite of it; it's almost as if the mushrooms inside weren't even there.
There are a few things I'm proud of in this meal, but let's start with the list of ingredients. Lately, it's easy for us always to have eggs on hand. But what else should go into an omelette? Whatever you have in the fridge at the time could work out in your favor. I like to limit myself to about three additions, one of which is cheese. The type of cheese mostly sets the tone for the end product, and therefore the other two choices. I'm not a fan of this shredded, pre-packaged stuff, but for ease of use and—especially in the case of cheddar—decency upon melting, it was probably the best option we had in our deli drawer at the time.
The first thing to hit the pan, on this particular day of trial, was a delicate dab of leftover bacon grease. Home-prepped lard. I'd heard it was the proper start to a meal of eggs, but honestly never having had a traditional plate of eggs and bacon, this was the closest I'd ever be to that standard of a presumably purposed pairing. As soon as the whole thing melted on medium heat, a steady swish to coat the whole pan was met with the next level of eggs-traordinary tips. (If you thought I was above that, I've got news for you.)
While whisking the 2 eggs this time around, I mixed in the other two ingredients: finely chopped mushrooms and a handful of asparagus tips. Not only did this make crafting the omelette easier, I believe it helped hold the egg together (fancy that) when it came time to flip. As the topside now cooks, the cheese is added to optimally fill a semi-circle or full circle, but for some reason I opted for burrito-layering. No matter. The end result would only be missing cheese in a few bites.
After folding and plating, not only did this taste vaguely familiar, but it also looked like the little egg-patties of my family's tradition, ejjeh. Which, oddly enough, I'd always enjoyed. Probably due in part to my preference for eating them cold. Those egg-parsley rounds were always easier for me to stomach than, say, a fresh slice of quiche (pronounced kwee-chay). Anyway, as much as this omelette tasted good dry, I still like adding condiments to them. This one saw a splash of ponzu—basically a lemon-soy sauce that followed in line with the refrigerator roulette aspect of this meal.
Now, I don't like eggs, but I'll eat them. And you'll note here my favorite way to eat eggs, at least when they're explicitly present in a meal. But, strange as it may be, when we go out to eat and I am in the mood for eggs, boiled is hardly on the menu. I've actually tried to order them at least thrice, with responses that ranged from the obvious "we don't have" to the humorous "you mean for a salad?" Needless to say, I regularly order omelettes instead.
I've actually been in the habit of eating omelettes since college, where the food seemed endless and I actually had time to eat breakfast after my first class. Everybody's favorite chef was Omelette Guy, where he'd give you every option imaginable for him to craft your very own 3-egg omelette. The nutritional value was always a question but never an issue in anyone's mind.
How Not to Make an Omelette
I faintly remember having made an omelette before, but knowing how memories work and the likelihood of the whole thought being fabricated, plus the fact that I have no photographic evidence of it, I've probably never made an omelette before. And that actually makes me feel good, because the specimen you're about to see is so idiotic, I would have no excuse for its concoction had I succeeded at it once.
 |
| March 12, 2016 - Level Zero Omelette |
Allow me to explain my thought process in the initial stages of this obvious faux pas. I was so psyched that I was to create my first omelette that I forgot the single most important step: whipping the eggs. I cracked the shells, peeled them apart, poured them into the sizzling pan, and voilà! started to think that something was amiss. As the thought settled in my mind, I went into the other room to admit my mistake to Jes, who seemed to know instantly what the problem was. I mean, there are very few ways you can fail at making an omelette, especially within the first seconds of sizzling.
Well, not being a fan of sunny-side any-which-way eggs, I stabbed it all with my trusty spatula and made my first batch of scrambled eggs. Of course, I'll still refer to it as an omelette because that's what it was meant to be. The fact that it looks nothing like one was simply an error en route to the plate—or, in this case, the bowl.
I know it doesn't taste any different from an omelette, but its appearance sat in the back of my mind as something not so appetizing. I mean, look at that third quadrant: It's so fluffy! It looks like a Peep exploded into a hundred pieces. And I'm not even a fan of marshmallows, either.
Well, since Jes was practically forcing me to eat my
More Whisk, Less Risk
Soon, I returned to my weekly breakfast skillet with more confidence in my ability to keep to the code—that being, beat the eggs before you cook them. I know; it's like common sense for an omelette, and if I were reading a recipe, I'd hardly miss that step, but trial and error is as proper a teacher. And, that said, this time still had room for improvement.
 |
| March 19, 2016 - Mushroom-Swiss Omelette |
I was much happier with myself when I pulled this together: broke 2 eggs, brought out my shootin' hand to mix yolk and albumen as best as I could, then poured the smooth concoction into the buttered pan and tilted it around to fill out the circle. I know the tricks for making pancakes, but this was something new for me, and I still haven't mastered the technique of knowing when to flip it. Maybe my spatula wasn't big enough, or maybe I did well enough and I'm just kidding myself. But the thing that sets this omelette apart from the next is, once again, some amendment of the first step.
I had my ingredients all prepped from the get-go—tomatoes, mushrooms and (I believe) sliced Swiss cheese—but the reason I piled them high in, once again, that third quadrant was simply because it's how I imagined making it at the time. Now, there's nothing wrong with building an omelette like that. It tastes about the same, given those particular ingredients (i.e., vegetables). But the egg became a blanket to the filling, its taste separate and still-so-eggy, something I don't particularly enjoy in my eggs.
Folding this over also proved meddlesome in that I can never decide proper ratios for combining flavors. I know, it's nothing a simple recipe can't fix, but that's just not my style. Good cooking had to start somewhere; it wasn't always mathematical ledger, right? Besides, it's not like either of these came out inedible. They were simply not as good as they should have been.
Living on the Ejjeh
Which brings us to my final omelette of the year (thus far, at least). Once again, still not the "best omelette you've ever had," but definitely, in the line of Saturday-morning cooking, the best yet crafted by yours truly. Even Jes made the face of approval when she had a bite of it; it's almost as if the mushrooms inside weren't even there.
 |
| October 16, 2016 - Ome-Roulette |
There are a few things I'm proud of in this meal, but let's start with the list of ingredients. Lately, it's easy for us always to have eggs on hand. But what else should go into an omelette? Whatever you have in the fridge at the time could work out in your favor. I like to limit myself to about three additions, one of which is cheese. The type of cheese mostly sets the tone for the end product, and therefore the other two choices. I'm not a fan of this shredded, pre-packaged stuff, but for ease of use and—especially in the case of cheddar—decency upon melting, it was probably the best option we had in our deli drawer at the time.
The first thing to hit the pan, on this particular day of trial, was a delicate dab of leftover bacon grease. Home-prepped lard. I'd heard it was the proper start to a meal of eggs, but honestly never having had a traditional plate of eggs and bacon, this was the closest I'd ever be to that standard of a presumably purposed pairing. As soon as the whole thing melted on medium heat, a steady swish to coat the whole pan was met with the next level of eggs-traordinary tips. (If you thought I was above that, I've got news for you.)
While whisking the 2 eggs this time around, I mixed in the other two ingredients: finely chopped mushrooms and a handful of asparagus tips. Not only did this make crafting the omelette easier, I believe it helped hold the egg together (fancy that) when it came time to flip. As the topside now cooks, the cheese is added to optimally fill a semi-circle or full circle, but for some reason I opted for burrito-layering. No matter. The end result would only be missing cheese in a few bites.
 |
| October 16, 2016 - Ome-Roulette |
After folding and plating, not only did this taste vaguely familiar, but it also looked like the little egg-patties of my family's tradition, ejjeh. Which, oddly enough, I'd always enjoyed. Probably due in part to my preference for eating them cold. Those egg-parsley rounds were always easier for me to stomach than, say, a fresh slice of quiche (pronounced kwee-chay). Anyway, as much as this omelette tasted good dry, I still like adding condiments to them. This one saw a splash of ponzu—basically a lemon-soy sauce that followed in line with the refrigerator roulette aspect of this meal.
8.18.2016
Refrigerator Roulette
In celebration of our new apartment, new kitchen, and today our new fridge, I bring for your starved eyes and idle hands "improvisational meals." Following are dishes which I'm glad to say had cost me no stress to craft—a quality that is often lacking when I am playing the part as chef. The first two utilize ingredients left over from previous nights, while the latter two are not only more appealing, but they lead in a concept I much appreciate: cooking with condiments.
In an early post, I subtly mentioned one of the most integral precepts I cook by: You work with what you have. A recipe calls for something you don't have? Find a substitute; or, possibly, you can omit it. Though, in these cases, it's much simpler than that. Hungry? Look in the fridge and start pulling out ingredients. Fond memories of my dad making lunch for us stem from this basic principle. His idea of pizza was very...unique.
Hasty, yet Tasty
Lunch is usually my first meal of the day, simply because I rarely have time anymore for breakfast. If I do have breakfast, it's usually in the form of Pop-Tarts or fruit; when it's not, it's a special occasion. But returning to lunch, the most impromptu of these plates seem to always start with a tortilla.
This wasn't so on-the-spot as I initially led you on to believe. I brought all of the ingredients to work and assembled it there for the microwave oven. The tortilla and peppers were provided from home, while the steak and cheese came from Baja Fresh. Something I picked up from someone somewhere: you can shop for ingredients from local restaurants, just as you might ask for "extra" on the side. Yes, it's cheap in more ways than one, but hey, it saves time and effort for a lone pair of lunchtime fajitas.
Now, if you really wanna talk cheap, long before that delicious treat was even possible—and, actually, a few months before I met Jes in person—I'd made a burrito (pictured below) containing melted Havarti, leftover Chinese-takeout rice mixed with a couple of packets of Taco Bell mild sauce, and sliced pear. The Taco-Bell sauce was a phase of my early cooking days, and you'll hear the end of it another day. But I must say, for something so embarassingly bland, it was actually a decent meal.
A League of Its Own
Moving right along to the other half, there's something to be said about refrigerated condiments. Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise—in my youth, these things found their way to the table merely as add-ons for burgers, pretzels, and sandwiches; but somewhere along my life, I got the idea that they should really be add-ins. Shirley, I'd often watched my mother put ketchup in meatloaf—and the memory of her using the short-lived green variety that hit the supermarket shelves one year is actually more hilarious than revolting.
Ground mustard was upon our spice rack, and I'd sprinkled that over potato salad and other sorts of foods as a kid exploring distinct flavors. The squirtable version was less a favorite of mine, even for hotdogs and kielbasa which I consider proper pairings nowadays. And mayonnaise is often used as a binding agent due to its egg-content. Well, my mom would be proud to learn that last one had stuck with me after all those years, because when I thought of ingredients to mix together for a delectable, moist coating for boneless chicken breasts, mayo was at the top of the list.
The other two noticeable pieces of this spread were chopped artichoke hearts and black olives, along with a tasty dose of garlic powder, salt and pepper. My passion was really showing that night, as though I knew exactly what the outcome would taste like even before I'd opened the mayo jar. A few combining stirs later and a balanced application over the thawed chicken, these saw their way to the oven and came out without a worry for their doneness. Only God could have orchestrated such peace in the kitchen that day, and if that weren't enough, this meal marks the third which Jes and I agree belongs in my portfolio.
The Best of the Worce-t
The side dish for my artichoke-chicken was a preparation of yellow squash Jes had made with Worce-ster-shire sauce. Another condiment which I used to only apply to well-done steaks, the very label suggests using it for marinating. Well, I can't say that I've done that yet, but I have put it to work as a form of simmering broth.
I can't say I recall why this reads "baked BBQ chicken." I'm almost certain it was leftovers—I just have no recollection of having eaten it any other day, or preparing it, if we were indeed responsible for it. It might've been undercooked after some time in the oven, as that's the only explanation I can consider. Regardless, it made its way to this sauté pan along with Worcestershire sauce for a proper searing, and a generous amount of ground black pepper.
Following, it took a bath in Coca-Cola. Yes. There's some sentimental value among my brother and me in using effervescent caffeine beverages (soda) as a cooking ingredient, but to settle things right out, it's simply the flavor that actually made this work. If this remastering saw another remastered moment, the three enhancers might better find themselves combined as a marinade, given the acidity of the soda.
The sides for this picnic-reminiscent dish included (clockwise from bottom left) canned beans (wax, kidney and green) with rosemary and black olives, a can of "southern cabbage," and frozen shoepeg corn cooked and burnt to deliberate perfection. The liquid left over from drowning the chicken ended up reducing for the sauce shown.
In an early post, I subtly mentioned one of the most integral precepts I cook by: You work with what you have. A recipe calls for something you don't have? Find a substitute; or, possibly, you can omit it. Though, in these cases, it's much simpler than that. Hungry? Look in the fridge and start pulling out ingredients. Fond memories of my dad making lunch for us stem from this basic principle. His idea of pizza was very...unique.
Hasty, yet Tasty
Lunch is usually my first meal of the day, simply because I rarely have time anymore for breakfast. If I do have breakfast, it's usually in the form of Pop-Tarts or fruit; when it's not, it's a special occasion. But returning to lunch, the most impromptu of these plates seem to always start with a tortilla.
 |
| March 1, 2013 - Concocted Steak Fajitas |
This wasn't so on-the-spot as I initially led you on to believe. I brought all of the ingredients to work and assembled it there for the microwave oven. The tortilla and peppers were provided from home, while the steak and cheese came from Baja Fresh. Something I picked up from someone somewhere: you can shop for ingredients from local restaurants, just as you might ask for "extra" on the side. Yes, it's cheap in more ways than one, but hey, it saves time and effort for a lone pair of lunchtime fajitas.
 |
| March 1, 2013 - Concocted Steak Fajitas |
Now, if you really wanna talk cheap, long before that delicious treat was even possible—and, actually, a few months before I met Jes in person—I'd made a burrito (pictured below) containing melted Havarti, leftover Chinese-takeout rice mixed with a couple of packets of Taco Bell mild sauce, and sliced pear. The Taco-Bell sauce was a phase of my early cooking days, and you'll hear the end of it another day. But I must say, for something so embarassingly bland, it was actually a decent meal.
 |
| July 30, 2011 - Meatless, Veggie-less Burrito |
A League of Its Own
Moving right along to the other half, there's something to be said about refrigerated condiments. Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise—in my youth, these things found their way to the table merely as add-ons for burgers, pretzels, and sandwiches; but somewhere along my life, I got the idea that they should really be add-ins. Shirley, I'd often watched my mother put ketchup in meatloaf—and the memory of her using the short-lived green variety that hit the supermarket shelves one year is actually more hilarious than revolting.
Ground mustard was upon our spice rack, and I'd sprinkled that over potato salad and other sorts of foods as a kid exploring distinct flavors. The squirtable version was less a favorite of mine, even for hotdogs and kielbasa which I consider proper pairings nowadays. And mayonnaise is often used as a binding agent due to its egg-content. Well, my mom would be proud to learn that last one had stuck with me after all those years, because when I thought of ingredients to mix together for a delectable, moist coating for boneless chicken breasts, mayo was at the top of the list.
 |
| July 13, 2015 - Art o' Chicken |
The other two noticeable pieces of this spread were chopped artichoke hearts and black olives, along with a tasty dose of garlic powder, salt and pepper. My passion was really showing that night, as though I knew exactly what the outcome would taste like even before I'd opened the mayo jar. A few combining stirs later and a balanced application over the thawed chicken, these saw their way to the oven and came out without a worry for their doneness. Only God could have orchestrated such peace in the kitchen that day, and if that weren't enough, this meal marks the third which Jes and I agree belongs in my portfolio.
The Best of the Worce-t
The side dish for my artichoke-chicken was a preparation of yellow squash Jes had made with Worce-ster-shire sauce. Another condiment which I used to only apply to well-done steaks, the very label suggests using it for marinating. Well, I can't say that I've done that yet, but I have put it to work as a form of simmering broth.
 |
| January 27, 2014 - Baked BBQ Chicken Remastered |
I can't say I recall why this reads "baked BBQ chicken." I'm almost certain it was leftovers—I just have no recollection of having eaten it any other day, or preparing it, if we were indeed responsible for it. It might've been undercooked after some time in the oven, as that's the only explanation I can consider. Regardless, it made its way to this sauté pan along with Worcestershire sauce for a proper searing, and a generous amount of ground black pepper.
Following, it took a bath in Coca-Cola. Yes. There's some sentimental value among my brother and me in using effervescent caffeine beverages (soda) as a cooking ingredient, but to settle things right out, it's simply the flavor that actually made this work. If this remastering saw another remastered moment, the three enhancers might better find themselves combined as a marinade, given the acidity of the soda.
 |
| January 27, 2014 - Baked BBQ Chicken Remastered |
The sides for this picnic-reminiscent dish included (clockwise from bottom left) canned beans (wax, kidney and green) with rosemary and black olives, a can of "southern cabbage," and frozen shoepeg corn cooked and burnt to deliberate perfection. The liquid left over from drowning the chicken ended up reducing for the sauce shown.
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