blog postings for chicken

Chicken and Dumplings

 Garlic Lemon Roast Chicken (before roasting)

I made chicken and dumplings last night—or at least what I call chicken and dumplings. Not the Southern kind, but the . . . um, Bisquick kind. I always have a box of Bisquick in the pantry—I grew up on it. I started making chicken and dumplings this way years ago. I have since made homemade dumplings with an elaborate chicken mixture, but really don’t see the need. As long as you have good chicken stock, it’s brainless and a breeze to make—the way a comfort food should be. It’s a perfect after-work dinner that, by the way, kids love.

The Sunday before I made Relish’s Garlic Lemon Roast Chicken (http://www.relishmag.com/recipes/view/37201/roast-chicken-garlic-lemon.html)(originally from Hamersley’s Bistro, which is fabulous). I took the chicken bones and all the accompanying yummy marinade and made chicken stock. I didn’t even bother with onions, carrots or any other aromatics typically used to make stock.

The next night, I heated up the stock, added sliced carrots and the leftover chicken and simmered a little while. Then I plopped the  dumpling mixture (Bisquick and milk with a little Parmigiano Reggiano—OK, I couldn’t resist) into the stock. Twenty minutes  and a walk with the dog later, chicken and dumplings—perfect for a rainy Wednesday night. 

Chicken and Dumplings

If you’ve never made your own chicken stock, this is the time to do it. Take the remains of a roasted chicken, toss in a pan, cover with water, and simmer slowly for as long as you can—at least 3 hours. The longer it simmers, the more flavorful the stock will be. Toss in an onion, carrots, parsley and peppercorns if you’re feeling ambitious. You should have at least 6 cups stock.

6 cups good chicken stock (give or take)

2 cups sliced carrots

2 cups leftover cooked chicken

2 ¼ cups Bisquick mix

2/3 cup milk (or more to get a sticky dough)

¼ cup Parmigiano Reggiano cheese

1. Heat chicken stock in Dutch oven or wide pan with lots of surface area (this is to make room for all the dumplings to float and cook on top). Add carrots; cook 10 minutes. Add chicken. Drop dumplings by spoonfuls onto simmering stock. Cook 5 minutes. Cover and cook about 15 minutes or until dumplings are cooked.

Although I didn't personally know Sheila Lukins, I feel like I did, as I have been cooking out of her cookbook, The Silver Palate since 1984, when my parents gave me a copy for college graduation. Sheila Lukins died a couple days ago from brain cancer. I heard it in the morning on NPR. They interviewed Lynne Rossetto Kasper, host of the radio show, The Splendid Table about Sheila and why her book, written with Julee Rosso had been so groundbreaking. Lynne said it was the new Joy of Cooking to a whole generation of cooks who were exploring ethnic foods. Indeed I had many "firsts" through the Silver Palate—my first pesto, my first pizza, and my first chili.

I also had many seconds and thirds and fourths. So many, in fact that that original copy is now in 4 pieces with no binding and I’m onto my second copy. It’s also riddled with notes about bake times, when I served it, who liked it, why it wasn’t good, how I modified it and what it needed more of. I’ve always felt like a cookbook should be a diary of sorts— I love the thought of my kids pulling it out to find a note about the brownies we had on their 4^th birthday. The book isn't without flaws.  The Glazed Lemon Cake has an editor's omission mark through it, and the words "fell, don't make again."  But these are outweighed by notes to the effect of that on the Banana Cake, marked with a "great!" and the Peach Cake, marked with an "excellent!" The chili and molasses cookies and Spicy Tomato Sauce are conspicuously missing, because they're in my “master” recipe folder reserved for regulars. Indeed my kids have grown up on their molasses cookies, and they’re still my gold standard—thin, crisp and chewy with just the right amount of spice.

But as I sit here paging through the book, I'm reminded of how absolutely timeless it is. I happen upon Lentil and Walnut Salad, one I never made, and prop the book open in my cookbook stand.........destined to be a new classic no doubt.  Thank you Sheila--you've provided us with the best legacy possible--a lifetime of delicious memories. You indeed had a silver palate.

Here is the Chicken Marbella recipe, which I came to later in life, but love just as well. It’s possibly the recipe she’s known best for.

Chicken Marbella

This was the first main-course dish to be offered at The Silver Palate shop, in New York City, and the distinctive flavors of the prunes, olives and capers kept it a favorite for years. It's good hot or at room temperature.

1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1 cup pitted prunes
1/2 cup pitted Spanish green olives
1/2 cup capers with a bit of juice
6 dried bay leaves
1 head garlic, peeled and finely pureed
1/4 cup oregano
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
4 chickens (2 1/2 pounds each), quartered
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup dry white wine
1/4 cup flat-leaf parsley or cilantro, finely chopped

1. In a large bowl, combine olives oil, vinegar, prunes, olives, capers and juice, bay leaves, garlic, oregano, and salt and pepper. Add chicken and stir to coat. Cover and refrigerate overnight.
2. Preheat oven to 350F.
3. Arrange chicken in a single layer in one or two large shallow baking dishes and spoon marinade over top evenly. Sprinkle chicken pieces with brown sugar and pour white wine around them.
4. Bake 1 hour, basting frequently with pan juices. Chicken is done when thigh pieces, pricked with a fork at the thickest part, yield a clear yellow (rather than pink) liquid.
5. With a slotted spoon, transfer chicken, prunes, olives and capers to a serving platter. Moisten with a few spoonfuls of pan juices and sprinkle with parsley. Pour remaining pan juices into a sauce boat.
Note: To serve Chicken Marbella cold, cool to room temperature in the cooking juices before transferring pieces to a serving platter. If the chicken has been covered and refrigerated, reheat it in juices, then allow it to come to room temperture before serving. Spoon some reserved juice over chicken. Serves 10 to 12.

Recipe courtesy of The Silver Palate Cookbook, 25th Anniversary Edition, by Julee Russo and Sheila Lukins (Workman Publishing, March 2007.)

My good friend Robin lives on a teeny tiny lake, in a teeny tiny town in a teeny tiny house. She is the original pioneer woman (as another friend pointed out one day as she was spinning her own wool on my front porch). She really is quite amazing. She roasts her own coffee, makes her own soap from goats milk, bakes her own bread, makes her own hard cider, fruit preserves, dries her own tomatoes, and now, raises her own chickens. Twenty four hours at her house is an exercise in sensory stimulation and a lot of education. I learned that each of her 6 Golden Comet chickens will lay one egg a day for about 3 years--giving her an ample supply of omeletes. But probably the coolest thing I learned was how to roast coffee beans. I used to think folks who roasted their own beans were a little crazy. It just seemed like a lot of work. But it's actually not. 

Robin buys her beans in bulk on-line from sweetmarias.com. Unroasted beans cost about $6/pound. She roasts them in an inexpensive coffee roaster that she got a Target, that looks a lot like a standard coffee grinder--it's about the same size. It took her about 7 minutes to roast our beans to a nutty brown, with a flavor so good, that I actually ate a few beans whole by themselves. She brewed us cups in her standard drip coffee maker for delicious, smooth cups of coffee. But the best was the espresso she made in her little bialetti stove top espresso pot--which costs about 20$ at a Italian cookware store. It works the reverse of a drip maker--heating up the water and sending it up through the coffee grounds. It's adorable, doesn't take up counter space, and simple--something I will definitely get. 

The range was on the blink the other night, so we had a no-cook dinner. The kids would have been thrilled with some pizza rolls tossed in the microwave, but since we had eaten Chinese take-out the night before, I had a taste for real food.

I found everything I needed in one quick trip to the store: A rotisserie chicken, a bag of mixed Italian salad greens, a red bell pepper and some microwaveable rice.

At home, I took the meat off the chicken, tossed it on top of the greens, drizzled some of the chicken juices over the salad, added a splash of balsamic vinegar, some roasted tomatoes and a little feta cheese. Served with the rice and red pepper strips, it made a tasty, fast meal.

Actually it was kind of fun, like when you have a can of beans in the pantry and not much else, or when the power goes out and you spend the night in candlelight. 

    I was too tired after a 7-mile run the other night to do much cooking, so I went to Plan B with the defrosted boneless, skinless chicken thighs.

    Tossing them into a hot oven with no seasoning was out of the question. In the pantry, I found a bottle of Pace Tequila Lime salsa, which gave me a good idea. I slathered three-quarters of a bottle on the chicken, scattered some feta cheese over it and baked it, uncovered, in a 425-degree oven for about 30 minutes. I microwaved corn tortillas in a damp paper towel for a minute or two, and we folded pieces of chicken in the tortillas.

   Who knew a three-ingredient dinner could be so good? As my daughter said, oh my goodness, they were delicious.

    I enjoyed mine with an icy Caguama, my beer of choice this month. It was a few days too late to call it a Cinco de Mayo meal, but we really liked it.

Last time I boiled some eggs, I noticed something different about them. The shell was stamped with the words “Born Free.” Very puzzling. Are eggs “born” when they are laid, or does the “borning” take place at hatching? Hmmm.

    Turns out Born Free is a company in Watertown, Mass., that packages and sells cage-free eggs (another puzzling concept—isn’t it the chickens, not the eggs, that are cage-free?).

    All this musing about eggs and chickens reminded me of my grandmother’s chickens. Though I was raised in the city, my grandparents lived in the country. In addition to chickens, my grandmother’s menagerie included, at various times, pigs, sheep, cows and a goat named Davy Crockett.

    When the cousins gathered in the country for a visit, we’d play on top of the cellar, a great place except for one problem: You had to walk through the chicken yard to get there. Most of the chickens were docile enough, but mixed in with the brood were some that had less than pleasant beginnings—they were our Easter chickens. Having been dipped in dye as chicks, they weren’t too fond of humans, and kids were easy targets. As you raised the latch on the chicken yard gate, you needed to carefully scan the area for any nearby Easter chickens—easy to spot because these mostly white birds, as adolescents, still had purple dye tips on their feathers. Then you’d run like the dickens for the cellar roof. If you weren’t fast enough, the chickens would charge, and if they got too close, they’d flog you. (For you city-slickers out there, that’s when they jump on you and beat you with their wings while pecking away with their pointy little beaks.)

    OK, OK, I know. They had a rough childhood. But an attack by a chicken is enough to make a chicken out of anyone.