It's About Me

Archive for February, 2010

Valentines Day around here means one thing: It’s all about The Hunka. He gets his annual meal of Chicken in Port Wine Sauce and Asparagus-filled Crepes. Good stuff.

I goofed around most of the morning, and then decided I probably needed to get busy. That hair and face ain’t gonna do itself. Getting purdy is always a requirement for wooing your sweetheart, right? It took way more time than I normally take (which is about 15 minutes), but the results weren’t half bad. Too many wrinkles, and probably one too many rolls in the middle, but hey, I’m 43 and I deserve at least a little pudge. At least the hair looked good. No matter what, I can always depend on the hair.

I was so taking that picture in the mirror. In the bathroom. Then photoshopped the background so you wouldn’t know.

But forget about me. The star of this night is the meal. Totally. Don’t like asparagus? I dare you to eat these crepes and tell me you don’t like asparagus. My 11 year old who hates everything green devoured 4 of them.

The recipes – Where it all began

I found these little recipe books on a sale rack in some dollar store back in 1989 or so. They were a dollar so I picked up a couple. One of them was a book on French Cooking. It looked French. It has the image of the Eiffel Tower and had crepes on the cover.

And it was a dollar.

I’ve used it a few times in the last few years. It didn’t hold up well.

But it was a dollar.

And had this recipe.

Doesn’t this look fantastic?

Mine won’t look like this. All the port wine I’ve found is purple. Deep purple. And I don’t mean the rock group. But the taste? It’s divine. Or you could use sherry. Dry or Tawny. Or both port and sherry. Really, really divine!

The first cookbook I ever bought was in 1982. I was only 16, but was already nesting like a future newlywed. I might have had a boyfriend at the time that spurred that spark, but mostly I’ve wanted to be a wife since the dawn of time, and cooking is part and par for the course. It’s the southern raising I’m sure.

This Better Homes and Garden cookbook is nice for beginners. Lots of step by step basic recipes. Right after I bought this book, I nearly burned the house down. I was boiling eggs.

This is my go to book for crepes. I don’t think I’ve used any other recipe out of this book since I’ve been an adult but it’s my first cookbook, and I’m not getting rid of it. I’m sure there will be a great-granddaughter in my future that will think it’s old and ancient and cool.

Mmmm. Crepes. They’re like pancakes, only thinner. And you stuff them. And roll them.

Now I’m hungry. Really hungry.

To get this party started, gather up all your ingredients. Here are a few of my favorites. Or some I found on sale. In this house, it’s all about the sale.

These are the basics for both recipes. You’ll also need a few other things. Full recipe at the bottom of the page.

First heat some oil in a large fry pan. You can use oil or butter. I find butter burns too fast for high temp so I used vegetable oil. About 1/4 cup. Heat it to medium high. On an electric range, I used 8.

While the oil is heating put some flour, salt, pepper, garlic powder, and paprika in a plastic bag.

Mix it up. We’re going to dredge the chicken in it. I used chicken thighs because they were on sale, and I had some in the freezer. You can use breasts or even a whole cut up chicken. I took the skin off. I’m not a skin fan unless it’s seriously fried. And then, I still pull it off. This meal is by far not healthy so if you like skin, leave it on.

Drop half the chicken in to your bag and shake it up. Shake it up like K.C. and the Sunshine Band. Shake, shake, shake! Shake, shake, shake! Shake your chicken….

I once had a pudgy teacher named Mrs. Saudi. Oh we had a song for her. Shake your body, like Mrs. Saudi.

My mother was so ashamed.

I thought of it myself.

I was the lead singer.

I’m still serving penance for that.

Drop the chicken into your hot oil, then coat the other half.

If your oil is the right temperature you should be getting a good sizzle right out of the bag. Keep it hot, adjust the heat as you need to so it doesn’t drop too much when you put the first half in the pan.

If you lose the sizzle, that flour is going to be mushy. You don’t want mushy.

Once you get all the pieces in the pan, put a lid on it. You’ll cook it the longest on this side with the lid on. It will cook the chicken through.

Let it cook a good long time. About 8 minutes up to 15. At 8 minutes, lift the lid and lift one piece. Is it stuck? If so, it’s not done. Put the lid back on and come back in about 5 more. If it looks golden brown and crispy, you’re ready to turn them all.

Now let them cook on this side until you get the same results. Do not put on the lid. If you put the lid on now that crispy crust will steam. Get soft. And if there’s something you don’t want on Valentines Day it’s soft chicken. Know what I’m saying?

While the chicken is cooking, put the asparagus in another fry pan. You can use fresh, but I love to use the canned variety because of the juice.

I laid out two cans, but actually got out a third can after I started putting the crepes together. We shared dinner with my step-dad. I wanted to have plenty for everyone and leftovers for the Hunka.

Turn the heat up to mid-range and let these simmer in their own juice while you’re prepping the rest of the meal.

If you have a good knife, get it. I have two. One is the world’s most expensive dented tip knife as seen in a previous post. The other one is this beauty my mother gave me the Christmas before she died. I love this knife. For obvious reasons.

Slice some mushrooms and one onion. I used two containers of mushrooms. One for the sauteed mushrooms and onion for the crepes and another container for the chicken.

Dice half the onion. Do you know the easy way to do that? Cut the onion in half, lop the top off, and peel the outer skin off. Cut the onion along the ribs, then turn the knife and cut the other way. Instant dice.

With the other half of the onion, do a simple slice. This gives two different textures to the onion. The dice will brown quicker, giving a caramelized flavor that’s oh so good with mushrooms.

Do you know what goes good with onion and mushrooms?

Yeah. Butter.

Is it wrong for me to want to stick my face in that and lap it up like the dog?

It’s butter. It’s good. Second only to bacon.

Mmm. Bacon. It’s meat candy. Sigh.

Toss the mushrooms and onion into the melting butter and let it saute. Stir it around once in awhile so it all gets toasty. When you first put the mushrooms in, they will soak up the butter. Put an additional 2 or 3 tablespoons of olive oil in there.

While the mushrooms and onions are caramelizing, and the asparagus is simmering it’s time to start in on the crepes and take a look at the chicken.

The simplest recipe on the planet, except for maybe pancakes. Crepes are pancake’s more sophisticated sister.

Start with two eggs.

One cup of milk. Yes, I know what the recipe says.

Let me introduce to you the worlds oldest one cup Pyrex measuring cup.

Not really. But the hard water build up will sure fool you won’t it? I hate hard water. Welcome to the ranch.

Add the oil.

Then whisk like crazy.

Get a cup of flour. Yes, I do know what the recipe says.

Add the flour, a pinch of salt and some sugar to the liquid.

And whisk until smooth.

Now, with the extra half cup of milk and the extra half cup of flour you didn’t use, you’ll either add one or the other to the batter to make it just right. Depending on the flour, your batter may be too thick. If it’s too thick, you’ll wind up with pancakes. If it’s too thin, they’ll crack and bust and you won’t get them out of the pan. Leave it out, unless or until you need it.

It’s a dance.

I bet when you started reading this you didn’t realize you were getting an encyclopedia. Oh how this girl can talk.

She can go on and on and on. Especially if I stop briefly to talk about myself in the third person.

Let’s move on.

You’ll need a small fry pan. We have several this size and my husband swears by the non-stick version. I’ve never had a problem with my stainless, so I picked it.

Heat it first. Dry.

While it’s heating up check the chicken and the asparagus. The asparagus is probably dry at this point, and getting toasty. If it looks like this, wonderful! Stir it up, and then put a little water in it. Or, if you’re a pig like us, go ahead and decide to put that third can in there. The toastiness will add so much flavor.

The chicken probably looks pretty good too.

Pull it out of the frying pan and pour off all the grease. You won’t need it. There will be browned bits in the bottom of the pan, and this is a great thing.

The heat should still be high at this point, and when we pour the liquid in, that hot pan wet liquid will release all those bits and help us make a gravy. Put in all the remaining mushrooms then pour in the wine. Mmmm. Thick sweet port.

Stir the pan well and get all the bits off the bottom. Then pour in the cream. I didn’t have cream. Not a drop. So I used sour cream and a little milk. Hey, you do what you got to do when you’re in the middle of your annual dinner.

Mix it all up.

And then put all that beautiful chicken back in the pan.

—–

I guess I’ll finish this one of these days if I can find all the pictures after the hard drive crash. :-\

I’ve been getting ready for our annual Valentines day dinner. This is one holiday that is dedicated to The Hunka. I usually get taken pretty good care of the rest of the year so I’ve always made it a point to do something big for Valentine’s just for my babe.

The meal for this annual event is a French one I found in this tiny little ‘French’ cookbook I bought back in 1992 for a dollar. In 1994 (both girls were living with us at the time) I had planned this awesome dinner for my honey and had asked the girls to get home late that night. They didn’t.

Worse yet The Hunka got home very late from work too. I was lucky to have been able to keep the food going as long as I did but in doing so I changed the recipe. Drastically. And it was good. Oh so good. Good enough we’ve had it every Valentine;s day since, and I have to try and remember all the chain of events of that night so I get it right.

The recipe starts off with chicken fried in a bit of oil, and then cooked in a port wine sauce. However, since The Hunka was so late, I had used all the port, and had to wind up using some sherry I had on hand. Anything to keep the sauce a sauce and not a crispy goo on the bottom of the pan. By the end of the night I had a bottle of port and a bottle of sherry in that pot.

Did I mention I drank some of that port? I drank some of the sherry too.

By the time my Hunka came home, I don’t remember the full details of the recipe. But I remember that the food was divine. I also made asparagus filled crepes with a sauteed onions and mushroom sauce to put on it. Divine. It’s the only word you need to describe it all.

The kids got home that night in time for dinner and my middle one – my darling child – she put ketchup on it. If I ever wanted to kill a kid that would be the time. For that, and the because her sister made sure they got home ‘early’. I could have killed them both.

Tomorrow, me and the Hunka will be eating Chicken in Port Wine Sauce with Asparagus filled Crepes. So will Devon. The kid won’t like it. He’ll make comments. He’ll make faces. He’ll probably drag out the ketchup.

Isn’t it romantic?

31 years, 1 month and 5 days ago there was a revolution going on in Iran. The people clamored to the streets to protest, chanted to Allah, and wanted their freedom from their dictator and tyranny in their government. My family had been living there for 2 years. In one blink of an eye we lost everything, were whisked to the airport and evacuated out of Iran – without my Dad.

My mother, carrying my 2 year old sister, me, my brother and a friend of ours boarded a plane with only what we could carry. For us, we each carried two ski-boot bags full of brass, copper, silver and gold. My mom, all 90 pounds of her, carried my sister and one bag, tried to keep her eye out on three teenagers while worrying herself sick that we’d get mugged.

We landed at Turkey to get jet fuel but because they too were undergoing a coup we weren’t allowed to get off the plane. We were lucky to get the fuel without getting shot out of the air. We didn’t know that at the time.

Next we landed at London Heathrow to change planes to go to New York. We had to take our hefty bags, too heavy for a 12 year old girl to haul far, and walk through the airport, down some escalators, through the terminal to another plane. Some stuff we had in trunks that was in checked baggage went through customs without us having to deal with it. We boarded in barely the nick of time, flying out in the middle of a snowy night.

As we collapsed in our seats and settled in for the long flight to America my mom slept for the first time. I’m sure she cried herself to sleep, but being twelve, I was on an adventure and didn’t realize the bad things going on around me. I was happy to be headed home to Texas to be with my grandmother, Ma. I just assumed my Dad, who was left behind, would be fine. None of us knew at the time that he would barely escape with his life just a week or so before the hostages were taken at the American embassy.

When we landed in New York the weather was bad and they required us to stay overnight at a hotel. Us kids were thrilled, my mom was not. We had to once again haul all those bags through the New York airport, filled with expensive goods, and not get mugged. We were backwoods Texas hicks. Everyone looked like a mugger.

Customs stopped us in our tracks. They never once looked in the bags in our hands but our trunk was supposed to weigh no more than 100 pounds. One was WELL over 200, the other had a room sized hand tied Persian carpet meticulously folded to fit into the small trunk that contained it. It took every mathematical theory my physics degreed Dad had to make it fit. But it did. And it was very, very heavy.

The bellhop guy looked at my mother and said “Lady, this bag ain’t no hunnerd pounds!”. She just stood there and started crying. I piped up and told him we were being evacuated from Iran and pointed to the rest of the kids. He gave my mom a hug, and hollered out at the guy behind him “Trunk moving on, move ahead lady, move it on!”. We were passed through customs without another look back.

We will always remember that blessed man. I hope God has taken good care of him.

As much as I remember of that trip, getting through customs and standing in the middle of the airport to a mountain of reporters is probably the most memorable. 15 reporters came running up to us with microphones in their hands wanting to know all about how terrible it was in Iran, how much we hated the country and the people, and to tell our harrowing tale of the evacuation.

But we didn’t tell them that. We told them about the people we knew and how they were lovely, good, hard working individuals. The country was simple and beautiful and backwards, but in a good way. The evacuation went very smoothly. In reality we were never in any real danger. Boeing, Bell Helicopter and the American military had a very smooth evacuation plan that went off without a hitch.

The reporters couldn’t get away from us fast enough. They didn’t want to hear that! They wanted to hear my friends mom who was crying it up like some chick on Jerry Springer, with her overly dramatic and not quite true tales of woe. That image has been burned into my mind forever, and I remind myself of it when I see nothing but bad news of wars and terror overseas on the TV.

We evacuated out of Iran on January 6, 1979 and landed on Texas soil on January 8, 1979. Our country was about to go into a severe recession. We would have gas lines, and rationing of gas. My dad would finally return home in late March. I would kiss my first boyfriend. We would move to Utah.

But the people of Iran were entering a time of growth. They wanted freedom. Freedom from a dictator that they didn’t believe in. Freedom from other countries making decisions for them. Freedom from ‘the man’. What they got was a religious zealot that was worse than any dictator in 4 centuries. A man who pushed their country back in time five hundred years. A zealot that took freedom and rights away from the women worse than they had ever seen in their lifetimes.

Those same students who stood up and protested and said they wanted freedom were then in a religious prison worse than what they had under the regime of the Shah. Those same individuals are now 31 years older and have had enough. They’re living under the tyranny of an idiot and they hate him. They want their freedom. They want their government to make sense.

I pray for them. I really do.

They are standing up to a crooked government and are trying to take back their country. They want growth, and freedom, and the technology we all take for granted. They want something to believe in that is true. They want only what is good for their country and for their children. They are tired of the poverty that comes when government mandates every facet of its natives lives.

Watch them. Watch their heartache and frustration. They are standing up, risking their lives, getting beaten in the streets. All to show their government that they are tired of being mandated, tired of being squashed and being used as pawns in some madman’s game. They’re tired of passively sitting by and thinking ‘if God wills it’. Insha’Allah.

I wonder.

When will we wake up to our own plight?