Gilding the Lily since 2006
Any more, whenever I cook or even eat beans, I think of my buddy Ken Albala over at Ken Albala’s Food Rant. He doesn’t get as much traffic as all the Foodbuzz and Foodie Blogroll folks, which is a fucking shame, because he’s actually a …
I am losing my fucking mind in all this snow. We were able to drive through it on Saturday night, when it was just a few inches, but yesterday chains officially became required on all roads and the highways are closed. I don’t have chains, …
Chicken and waffles. The first in a series I call Monochromatic, Yet Delicious. Some of my readers (particularly the ones who hail from exotic locales) have blank looks on their faces. It’s a real thing, I assure you, to eat fried chicken on waffles. And it’s really fucking good.
Chicken and waffles is an American dish that was invented by black people in the 1930s to serve the needs of Harlem’s hungry jazz cats after a show. They often played so late into the wee hours that by the time they were done, it was too late for dinner and too early for breakfast. Anyway, that’s the most widely-accepted creation myth. I think it might have a little more to do with the amount of grass those dudes were smoking, but that’s just my theory.
Chicken and waffles are a Thing. They are a thing for which I hanker, and only one joint in town (that I know of) sells them, and then only on Sundays at brunch. Even those waffle carts that are popping up all over NoPo are missing the boat on the chicken. As usual, I had to take matters in to my own hands.
Granted, my chicken is merely oven-fried (I hate frying, especially in a freshly-cleaned kitchen) with a corn flake crust, but it comes close. I like it spicy and crunchy, on a fluffy waffle (a basic baking powder-leavened recipe instead of Belgian for simplicity – I didn’t feel like waiting for a yeasted batter to do its thing). Smeared with maple sugar spread and butter, a little syrup for good measure, and you’re havin’ kittens, baby.
Enjoy with a screwdriver and Dizzy Gillespie.
Working from home has its pluses and minuses. Minuses include feeling like you might literally explode from not having moved from the same few hundred square feet in more than 24 hours. Another minus is the constant distraction of cool shit like daytime TV, adorable …
…or, Snow DayWe don’t get much snow here in Portland. We’re nestled so snugly between the Coast Range to the west and the Cascades to the east, and all that noise gets buffered out in our quaint little Willamette Valley. But once or twice a year, we get the veritable shit…er, snowstorm of Weather. And the city shuts the hell down.
Nobody goes to work or school on snow days. We all turn on the TV to check for road closures anyway, just to see some asshole on the news careening downhill, perpendicular to the road, taking out innocent parked cars in his wake (do yourself a favor and cue up Yakety Sax in another tab so you can watch the vid with a soundtrack). People always try to drive in this shit. People from sunnier climes (cough*Californians*cough) who think that driving up to Ski Bowl a few times a year qualifies as “driving in snow” experience. It’s comedy gold, really, for everyone except the owners of those parked cars getting pwned on the side of the road. Here’s to good insurance.
During inclement weather, I’m not so keen on leaving the house. I’ve been a bit slumpy anyway lately, and this doesn’t really increase my motivation to leave my couch, let alone step foot outdoors. I don’t feel like doing anything that doesn’t involve a blanket and sweat pants, and am eating mostly total garbage like totchos (yes, that is nachos made with tater tots) and Blue Box with ketchup. I’m not pregnant, I think it’s just the weather and the darkness. I spent 8 hours playing Chibi Robo yesterday, for fuck’s sake. Ain’t no cure for the wintertime blues.
Except maybe some hearty chicken soup with crunchy green beans, peas and carrots, chunks of creamy fingerling potatoes, cremini mushrooms and succulent chicken, and some tender gnocchi. The dumpling-like gnocchi sort of melt into the soup after awhile, making it nice and creamy-chowdery, and the broth is just shy of melted chicken demi glace, so rich and velvety, with plenty of fresh thyme and black pepper.
Serve with oven-warm rolls and Tivo’d episodes of How Clean is Your House.
I’ve put on a few holiday pounds that are kinda stressing me out, because it’s not even cookie and fudge go-time yet. I haven’t really felt much like cooking lately, or even eating, which is kind of weird. I was craving salad, however, and decided …
I spent last week in Coos County, and haven’t been in my kitchen since last weekend. I usually come home from these forays hungry for my own cooking, but we had plans on Friday and Saturday and so I still haven’t really had any QT in the kitchen. After the marathon of Thanksgiving and a week of absence, I guess I’m still getting my groove back.
I hate to take a break for a week, and then return with some mess on a plate like this. It’s not a sexy comeback, it’s just breakfast. I made most of the components of an English fry-up: eggs, a couple rashers of bacon, mushrooms and tomatoes (just missing the black pudding and beans, really), and baked them on pizza dough. I also added some diced fingerling potato, chopped red onion and cheese curds for good measure.
I have a list of pickles and chutneys to crank out and can for holiday gifts, so that should keep me busy for awhile today. Here’s to getting things back to normal.
This is such an easy way to run through that half-gallon of turkey stock you have gelling in your fridge, and it’s a nice change of pace from the casseroles and sammiches. I’m sick of eating turkey, bread, mashed potatoes and gravy, and I’m sure …