This month just keeps on sliding away.
Last night I experienced major culinary failure. I attempted to make Jamie Oliver's Chicken in Milk dish. Now, I know there may be some of you thinking, "Right there, Jenny, right there was your sign to back away slowly."
I know. It kind of threw me off too. And I can't lie, further investigations into the recipe did not really alleviate my apprehensions. The seasonings included a cinnamon stick, lemon juice, ten garlic cloves, sage and a pint of milk.
So there's really no excuse, I should have known. But, well, I had two split chicken breasts in the freezer that needed to be eaten and I was tired of the same old herb roast I'd done, albeit successfully, many times before. I decided to give the new recipe the ol' college try.
I melted butter in olive oil, a tablespoon each and fried the chicken in it until crisp and golden all over. At that point it was still quite appetizing looking. Then I put the chicken in a small roasting pan, turned the heat off the sauce pan and added a half a cup of white wine to deglaze.
This step was not actually called for in the recipe, but I didn't want all the chicken-y goodness at the bottom of the pan to go to waste and honestly, what couldn't benefit from some added alcohol? I really can't think of anything.
Lately I buy whole heads of garlic instead of the small jar of minced garlic that was my step up previously from garlic powder. (You can trace my interest in cooking through my evolution of the garlic product purchase.) Anyhow, I wasn't about to throw ten whole cloves into the sauce, recipe be damned. That's a lot of garlic. I know in its whole form the flavor would still be mild, but that wasn't what I was worried about. I was worried about using my entire stock of garlic in one recipe and I'm just too thrifty to consider it an option.
So instead I sliced three large cloves. I also minced about two tablespoons of onion. Why? Just because, that's why. It seemed like it would go well and really, recipes, like the pirate code, are much more like guidelines than rules in my book.
I added garlic, onion, a bunch of sage and the last of my bottled lemon juice (I have yet to buy the whole lemon, but wait for it. I'll get there.) and about a teaspoon of cinnamon. Until the cinnamon everything looked just fine, but after the cinnamon there was something just a little off about the aroma. Not exactly unpleasant, just a little jarring somehow.
Regardless, I brought everything to a simmer, turned off the heat and added, oh, about two cups of milk. Immediately the milk split into curds (it's the lemon that did it), but warned by Jamie himself, I knew to expect this. I didn't expect to be thrilled by the appearance of the little curds, as Jamie was (he can't help himself, he's English) but I was prepared for them.
I dumped this strange mixture over the chicken and put the roasting dish into the oven at three fifty for a planned hour and a half, and prepared to baste "when you remember to," which is an exact quote from the laid back English chef himself.
Then I turned my attention to my vegetable, which was, most incongruously, a turnip. The turnip can be explained by a visit Keith and I made to a farmer's market in Corydon and my being thrown off by the presence of so much fresh produce. I just didn't know what to do with myself, so I picked up a brown bag and started throwing stuff in there.
After googling, I found a recipe for Amish Turnips, which turned out to be sort of a vegetable casserole dish. I'm familiar with the vegetable casserole, I don't mind saying that I make a killer sweet potato casserole. The problem was, I had only one turnip, which was insufficient for the recipe. Brilliantly, I decided to also boil carrots and make it a carrot/turnip casserole. (Which sounds like a dish that could be in the Redwall series, served by something like a hedgehog.)
While I slaved over peeling, cutting, boiling, mashing and casseroling the vegetables, the chicken percolated away in its perfumed milk bath. I did remember to baste it quite often and every time I did the aroma was quite delicious and the golden, crisp crust on the chicken got more and more appetizing.
Jamie recommend taking the chicken off the bones and serving it with mashed potatoes and wilted greens and pouring the sauce over everything. Maybe if I hadn't poured the sauce over the chicken, Keith might have actually taken more than one bite of it, but who knows?
All I know is, I found it delicious, if having a bit of a sour flavor imbued, I'm guessing, from the lemon juice. But as far as Keith was concerned, it was inedible, which is where the complete culinary failure came into play. Otherwise it was a perfectly edible chicken dish.
The episode sparked some intense conversations, during which these phrases, among others, were heard:
"I am not your own personal restaurant!" (Chez Keith!)
"You know I hate chicken."
"I made you an omelet for breakfast and then a pizza for lunch. You had pizza for lunch."
"I hate chicken!"
"Fine, I'm serving you ground beef with canned tomatoes poured over it every day!"
"Fine! It sounds great!"
"No more omelets for you!"
"Wait a minute...you can't do that! That's revenge and it's against our rules. You tell me that all the time."
"How does it feel now, huh?"
"Now, kitten..."
The result of all this was that when I want to branch out and try something different, Keith will be responsible for his making his own dinner. Which means while I'm searing scallops he'll be heating a microwave pizza and we'll both be happy.
Which is good, because I plan on trying Jamie's Spinach and Ricotta Stuffed Cannoli this week. I already have the shopping list prepared. (Which, by the way Scotty, if you're reading this, is the most insanely complicated recipe I've yet to come across, requiring, among other things, the use of a plastic zip lock bag as a pastry bag and a modified bechamel sauce. I'll send it too you if you guys want to try it too.)
