Recently someone very dear to me challenged me to make an effort to do only one thing at a time. (I say "dear to me" because people who know me well know that the shortest distance between me and an idea I'm not particularly fond of is a challenge.) The idea is this:

When you're watching TV, watch TV (no computer, no phone, no hopping up every five seconds to wash a dish or get a snack or examine your eyebrows in the bathroom).

When you're driving the car, drive the car (no listening to the radio, no checking your text messages at red lights).

When you're writing, write.

When you're talking, talk.

When you're cooking, cook.

Simple, no?

No. This is tough stuff, friends! I make my living, as I suspect most people do, through a great deal of multitasking. So multitasking begins to mean productivity, and then productivity begins to determine just which column your day can fall into: How many things did I do today? 36 things! Good day. 32 things! Tsk, tsk. Do more!

It requires real effort to do less, I find. It is contradictory but true that there can be comfort in a restless mind. (And I miss my NPR, I do.)

But a person can learn a lot about herself in the ensuing quiet, and in the attempts—however futile—at stillness. Even if that thing is namely that she is not very good at being quiet and still.

It stands to reason that doing one thing at a time will mean that you genuinely do that thing—writing, driving, cooking—better than you would otherwise do it. There is no question that quality suffers at the hand of quantity.

And yet this dinner, prepared in the peaceful calm of just me, just my kitchen, no distractions, was a complete failure of most of the things that would normally fall under the heading of success, where recipes are concerned: I had none of the proper ingredients, I did everything in the wrong order, and I wound up with something altogether foreign to what this is supposed to be ... at 9 p.m.

LOOSELY* speaking (*so, so loosely), this was an attempt to re-create this.

I've never eaten at a New York halal cart, but I'd read enough about it on the World Wide Web to hope that it would approximate the late-night food of indeterminate Middle Eastern origin that I loved so much in college.

I was in trouble almost from the word go. Or from the word halal. For one thing, here's what halal means, according to Wikipedia:

Halal foods are foods that Muslims are allowed to eat or drink under Islamic Shariʻah. The criteria specify both what foods are allowed, and how the food must be prepared. The food must come from a supplier that uses halal practices. Specifically, the slaughter must be performed by a Muslim.

Yeah, I'm fairly certain that's not happening at my Winn-Dixie. So I'm loath to put the word halal anywhere near this dish, lest I offend people who genuinely eat according to religious strictures. This is not that, is what I'm saying.

Winn-Dixie caused further problems by selling no boneless, skinless chicken thighs. And the bony, skinny chicken thighs they had looked ... suspect. Sigh. Boness, skinless breasts it would have to be.

For the sauce, white vinegar! I have that at home.

No I don't. White wine vinegar it would have to be.

Iceberg lettuce? All I have is Romaine. Harissa? Nowhere to be found in my market. Pocketless pita bread? Oops, forgot that entirely.

Once I got home with my rag-tag bunch of ingredients-that-were-not-quite-the-right-ingredients, I embarked on a completely flawed effort to do things according to the recipe. It turns out that a) I am really very rusty when it comes to following instructions, and b) my reading comprehension needs work.

The finished product though, is a revelation. I may never cook another chicken breast without marinating it in this intoxicating (and so simple!) mixture. Lemon, coriander, garlic, oregano—this is piquant business.

The sauce? The sauce is so weird, y'all. I was absolutely convinced that it was inedible when I first stirred it together. I left out the sugar, because I really wasn't sure about stirring an entire tablespoon of the stuff into my mayo/yogurt mixture. But with those 2 aggressive teaspoons of black pepper, I actually sneezed when I tasted it. So I decided to give the sugar a try, and the whole thing tasted ... well, still odd. Still, as a last-ditch snatch at authenticity, I topped my chicken and rice with a few dollops. And guess what? Balance. It turns out that sometimes the route may be circuitous, but it still gets you to the finish line, which in my mind is deliciousness.

Full disclosure: I still think a little bit goes a long way with the white sauce, but it truly is the element here that elevates this to something beyond your typical (albeit yummy) chicken and rice dinner.

According to those in the know, halal cart chicken is always served with a lettuce-and-tomato salad, which pairs really nicely here—it adds both crunch and coolness against the spiciness of all that black pepper and the hot hot heat of what in my case turned out to be sriracha (the only hot sauce I had on hand).

In short, you should make this. Because it is wonderful. And because it is easy. And because I'm going to show you how to make it wonderful and easy in the recipe below. Which is to say, do as I say, not as I do.

In the stillness and quiet, I am still a cautionary tale.

Enjoy!


Not-At-All-Halal Chicken and Rice

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon chopped fresh oregano
½ teaspoon ground coriander
3 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 pounds boneless skinless chicken breasts
1 tablespoon canola oil
2 tablespoons butter
½ teaspoon turmeric
¼ teaspoon ground cumin
1½ cups basmati rice
2½ cups chicken broth
½ cup lowfat mayonnaise
½ cup fat-free plain Greek yogurt
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
¼ cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 Romaine lettuce heart, chopped
1 large tomato, chopped
Hot sauce
Naan (optional)

1. Combine first 5 ingredients in a blender; blend until smooth. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Place chicken and half the lemon juice mixture, reserving remaining lemon juice mixture, in a large zip-top plastic bag; seal bag, turning to coat chicken in marinade. Marinate in refrigerator 1 hour, turning bag occasionally.

2. Remove chicken from marinade, and season with salt and (liberally) with pepper. Heat canola oil in a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat until lightly smoking. Place chicken in pan, in a single layer, and cook without disturbing 4 minutes or until lightly browned. Turn chicken, and cook undisturbed 6 more minutes. Remove to a cutting board and let cool 5 minutes.

3. Chop chicken into roughly ¼- to ½-inch pieces. Transfer to a bowl, and toss with reserved marinade; cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate.

4. Melt butter over medium heat in a large saucepan; add turmeric and cumin, and cook 1 minute. Stir in rice and cook, stirring often, 4 minutes. Stir in chicken broth, and salt and pepper to taste. Bring to a boil over high heat; cover, reduce heat to medium-low, and cook 15 minutes. Remove from heat, and let rest 15 minutes.

5. Whisk together mayonnaise, yogurt, next 4 ingredients, and 2 teaspoons pepper in a small bowl. Season with salt to taste. Set aside.

6. Return same large, heavy-bottomed skillet to stovetop over medium-high heat; add chicken and marinade and cook, stirring occasionally, until browned and heated through. Top rice with chicken; serve with lettuce, tomato, hot sauce, white sauce, and naan, if desired. Makes 6 servings. 

 

I have what amounts to a love-hate relationship with leftovers: My brain loves that they're cost-effective and ideal for lazy people; my heart thinks they are boring boring boring (and don't taste that great).

Even though I can admit that there are even some dishes that do manage to taste good the next day or cold—pizza, these wraps—I simply don't have the taste bud attention span to want That Same Thing for my next meal.

All of that, combined with my distaste for eating out of styrofoam containers (boo! all the food just steams in there! also the environment! probably in that order ... ), means that I don't eat takeout very often. 

I do, however, love the way the simplicity of this stir-fry—rice, beef, broccoli—plays with the complexity of the flavors. Those ingredients are simple, too, but they're just such wonderful friends: ginger, garlic, soy, fish sauce, hoisin. (I probably would have gilded the lily with a drop or two of sesame oil, but my grocer doesn't carry it.)

So far I've made the meal, eaten it, gone back for seconds, and twice (!) partaken of the leftovers. Two separate times! It's a leftover miracle. Even if once I slathered it in sriracha and draped a fried egg over it because That Is How I Do.

 

Although let's be serious—can you blame me?

 
A little leftovers note here: If you're going to go this route, put a couple of tablespoons of water in the pan with the rice and reheat it gently on the stovetop. Place the beef and broccoli in a dry skillet and kind of angrily crank up the heat—you want that hoisin to remember to redevelop a caramelized crust on the beef. And please, for the love of all things that taste good, don't put it in the microwave unless you absolutely have to. Microwaves were invented by people who thought flavor was an evil that had to be eradicated. I'm convinced it's half the reason frozen foods have so much salt in them—compensatory sodium!

I love the addition of the prepared Chinese hot mustard. (My grocery store sells this one.) I think it and the fish sauce really elevate this beyond the sweeter or blander versions you may have tried before. The mustard has something of a nasal, horseradish-style heat, so feel free to lather it all up with sriracha or chile flakes if you need a more focused kick to the tongue.

Simple, satisfying, and styrofoam-free—so much better than takeout.

Enjoy!



Stir-fry Beef and Broccoli

1½ pounds flank steak, trimmed
Kosher salt
Black pepper
Cornstarch
2 tablespoons canola oil
¼ cup prepared hoisin sauce
½ white onion, finely chopped
1 (1- to 2-inch) piece fresh ginger, minced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 (15-ounce) can reduced-sodium, fat-free beef broth
2 teaspoons fish sauce
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
2 teaspoons low-sodium soy sauce
2 tablespoons prepared hot mustard
1 large bunch broccoli florets
Hot cooked basmati or long-grain rice
Garnishes: chopped green onion, sesame seeds

1. Cut flank steak in half lengthwise; cut each half crosswise into very thin slices. Toss steak with salt, pepper, and just enough cornstarch to coat.

2. Heat canola oil in a skillet over medium-high heat until very hot. Add beef, in batches, and sauté 5 minutes or until edges are deeply browned. Place in a bowl and toss with hoisin; set aside.

3. Add onion to skillet, and cook 3 to 4 minutes or until softened and lightly browned; add ginger and garlic, and cook 1 more minute. Stir in beef broth, scraping to remove browned bits from bottom of pan. Stir in fish sauce and next 3 ingredients.  

4. Reduce heat to medium-low, and add broccoli florets. Cover and cook 10 minutes. Stir in beef; cover and cook 10 more minutes or until broccoli is tender and beef is heated through. Serve over rice; garnish, if desired. Makes 6 servings.

 

I had every intention of beginning this post with, "A few months ago, I pinned ... " And then I revisited my Pinterest yum board and realized I pinned this recipe a year ago. Which is just proof that I have no concept of time and good lord where did 2013 go?

When I pinned this recipe a year ago, I commented that it would be a great thing to try for my first attempt at slow cooking, should I ever procure a slow cooker.

And then I did procure a slow cooker, a Christmas gift from my dad and his husband, almost a year ago, and I developed an unhealthy fear of ... cooking things slowly.

Partly I think that's because I am not really familiar with slow cooker recipes, so I didn't know how to recognize a good one when I saw one, partly because I'm generally more a fan of recipes that have lots of fun but easy, therapeutic steps, and partly because I have a healthy fear of burning my house down.

Yes I know that you are statistically pretty unlikely to burn down your house with a Crock Pot, but I've always been a little ahead of the curve, accident-prone-wise.

This past Saturday's forecast called for a rainy half day and lots of people in my life who I count on to entertain me being busy or asleep, so I dragged my wilted Friday afternoon self to the grocery store and prepared for my maiden voyage.

Personally, I appreciated the prep work this dish required, even though I understand why the typical Crock Pot dump-and-cook approach is considered extremely valuable among the slow cooker set. What I enjoyed most about my first slow-cooking experience is that I got to do all of the things I like about being in the kitchen—chopping, whisking, mincing, peeling (well, not peeling so much; my knuckle was not the biggest fan of that part; see above re: accident prone)—but not doing the cooking myself made it feel a little bit like a magic trick. Insert ingredients, abracadabra, and presto! Dinner.

I made some adjustments to the original formula—I forgot the coconut milk, so I substituted what I had on hand, which was heavy cream. (Full disclosure: On my tombstone, it shall read, "Here lies K. She forgot one ingredient.) I also don't have access to quick-cooking tapioca, so I subbed cornstarch as a thickener.

I really liked the tenderness of the chicken and the hint of curry and peanut butter, but after five and a half hours of cooking, some of those the flavors needed a little brightness—the lime stands up beautifully (and only improves as leftovers), but a little sriracha and chopped roasted peanuts give the heat and salt a little boost. For color and life, cilantro comes in super handy.

So big thanks to Love at Home for being my inspiration! I made a big meal with very little effort, and I didn't burn down the house. Just right for a rainy couch-bound day spent testing my mental health by watching too many episodes in a row of The Newsroom.

Enjoy!



Slow Cooker Thai Chicken and Rice

2 medium onions, thinly sliced
1½ cups sliced peeled carrots (about 3 medium)
1 small red bell pepper, thinly sliced
2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces
¾ cup low-sodium, fat-free chicken broth
3 tablespoons creamy peanut butter
½ teaspoon lime zest
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons low-sodium soy sauce
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
3 teaspoons red curry paste
4 garlic cloves, minced
½ cup heavy cream
1 cup frozen peas
Hot cooked jasmine rice
Garnishes: sriracha, chopped roasted peanuts, fresh cilantro leaves 


1. Place first 3 ingredients in a slow cooker; top with chicken. Whisk together chicken broth and next 8 ingredients in a medium bowl until smooth. Pour over chicken and vegetables.

2. Cover slow cooker, and cook on low 5&frac12 hours. Stir in cream and peas; let stand, covered, 5 minutes.

3. Serve chicken mixture over hot cooked rice. Garnish, if desired. Makes 8 servings.

 

Remember those panko-crusted cutlets I made yesterday? There were five of them, and Mama don't waste. (Well, technically Mama does waste, but Mama feels really pretty guilty about it.)

So Chicken week continues!

I really love cabbage for its freshness and crunch and that impression it gives of bearing healthful goodness. I also like that it is really hardy and long-lasting in the refrigerator, which means you can add it to all manner of things—toss sautéed cabbage into egg noodles and serve with Swedish meatballs, tumble it into stir-fries, or make a delicious slaw to top any number of sandwiches, from hot dogs and hamburgers to Reubens and Cubans—even though it comes as a head the size of your ... well, head, which means you'll be eating it in things for a while.

That's where the leftover makeover comes in handy.



The only cure for leftovers, I find, is to turn them into something completely different whenever possible.

Monday's flavors were sort of (sort of) a Southern American homage, so I swung the pendulum all the way around last night and made a stir fry. You may think it is MORE THAN A LITTLE strange to put cole slaw in a stir fry, but it helps to know that I prefer my cole slaw super lightly dressed. It's not as though this ended up being a typical slaw with just a little soy sauce stirred in. (Because that might be weird. Or good. I don't know!)


I did some Internet research on the best way to reheat fried chicken, and the Internet said ... don't. Pretty universally, the prevailing wisdom seems to be that if it's easy to screw up reheating fried chicken, and fried chicken tastes delicious cold, then what would be the point?

Still, I assumed that this cold chicken would be best with cold noodles, and because I wasn't attempting that, I gambled with 20 minutes at 325, and it was just right—heated through and re-crisped on the outside, but not dry on the inside.

I plucked a couple of jalapeños out of the slaw before heating it in the pan, just so they'd retain their crunch and heat. I also stirred in some sriracha to amp up the flavor it might have lost by being, well, leftovers.

Et voilà! A hot, delicious weeknight meal that didn't require another trip to the store, or a stop for convenience food, that didn't taste anything like the previous night's weeknight meal.

Enjoy!


Spicy Cabbage Stir Fry with Panko-crusted Chicken

¼ small head green cabbage, thinly sliced
1 jalapeño, thinly sliced
2 green onions, chopped
3 tablespoons reduced-fat mayonnaise
2 teaspoons yellow mustard
2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
Salt, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
4 chicken cutlets or chicken breast fillets
All-purpose flour
2 eggs, beaten
Panko
1 cup jasmine rice
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons dried ginger or minced fresh ginger
¼ cup low-sodium soy sauce
1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
Sriracha, to taste
Garnish: chopped green onions

1. Combine first 3 ingredients in a small bowl. Whisk together mayonnaise and next 4 ingredients; add to cabbage mixture, and stir to combine. Chill until ready to serve.

2. Heat butter and 2 tablespoons oil in a large, deep skillet over medium heat until butter melts. Meanwhile, sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper to taste. Dredge chicken in flour; dip in egg, and dredge in panko. Cook chicken in butter mixture 3 to 4 minutes on each side or until golden brown. Remove to paper towels to drain.

3. Bring 2 cups water to a boil in a saucepan; stir in rice. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook 20 minutes.

4. Meanwhile, heat remaining 1 tablespoon oil in a large skillet over medium-low heat; add garlic and ginger and cook, stirring, 1 minute or until fragrant. Stir in cole slaw, and cook until cabbage is tender.

5. Combine soy sauce, fish sauce, vinegar, and sriracha in a small bowl. Stir cooked rice into cabbage mixture until rice is dry and toasted; stir in soy sauce mixture.

6. Top stir fry with chicken, and garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.


 

Look at that teeny tiny skillet! Isn't she terrific? She's one of a short stack of cast iron pans of varying sizes (including an awesome griddle pan) that my grandmother gave me. They sit in the corner of my kitchen unused for the most part, because they're beautifully seasoned and I'm terrified of ruining them somehow. As a rule I get about halfway through the instructions for seasoning cast iron and think, "Nope! Definitely would screw that up!" and hope my sweet gramma isn't somewhere rolling her eyes at me.

She is definitely somewhere rolling her eyes at me.

A couple of weeks ago I went to a friend's house to watch Breaking Bad. (Because from a television standpoint it's the best thing this side of The Golden Girls—only, you know, with harder drugs. Rose only went to rehab because she was addicted to muscle relaxers.) I never think much about other people cooking for me because I so enjoy being the cook-er that I rarely considering being the cooked-for. But Julie made this amazing, can't-get-it-off-my-mind red beans and rice. It was perfectly spicy, and the texture was spot on: creamy and smooth but chock-full of beans (yum) and Cajun sausage (double yum).

Red beans and rice is the kind of dish that hits you in all the right comfort food spots—it's akin to a casserole, which wins because it has that little-bit-of-everything feel. In this case, there is thick, starchy broth, bright heat, meaty bits, and fragrant carbs.

I do believe that's everything. 


Julie made hers in a slow cooker, and trust me when I tell you that's the ideal way to go. But if you are like me and have fewer mouths to feed and an inability to think beyond five minutes from whatever time it is, this is an easy one to simmer on your stovetop and come out with a delicious weeknight facsimile. You also get the benefit of browning off the sausage, which I love because it gives it a crispy exterior that's a lovely contrast to the rice and beans.

One thing Julie did that I forgot to do but highly suggest, is to mash up some of the beans. This thickens and silkifies (sure, could be a word) the "stew" part of the mix but leaves whole beans, too, for stick-to-your-ribs toothsomeness.

One thing Julie did NOT do but that I also highly suggest, is to top the whole thing off with a sensible (ahem) dollop of pimiento cheese.


It was mentioned to me that this could be considered "weird," but try it try it try it I promise it's a lovely marriage. Think of it as putting cheese on your chili, but then remember that this mixture introduces a vinegary tang from the pimientos. I scooped it out when it was well chilled, so that it slowly melted into the beans and became sort of a cheesy surprise in every bite.

The easiest way to accomplish this feat of strangeness is to use your favorite prepared pimiento cheese, but please make sure it was made by hands that freshly grated it, if you can. Store-bought pimiento cheese probably isn't going to give you the same payoff as the more artisan variety. (This here was given to me by my sister-in-law, who purchased it from a local vegetarian restaurant/dive bar in town. It was just right.)

So here's to being weird!

OK, that's enough eye-rolling, Grandma.

Enjoy!


Stovetop Red Beans and Rice with Pimiento Cheese

1 tablespoon olive oil
6 ounces andouille sausage
1 small green bell pepper, diced
½ medium onion, diced
½ teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
¾ teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon cajun seasoning
3 cups fat-free, low-sodium chicken broth
1 (8-ounce) can tomato sauce
2 (16-ounce) cans low-sodium kidney beans, drained and rinsed
Hot cooked rice
Prepared pimiento cheese
Garnish: chopped green onions

1. Heat olive oil in a stockpot over medium heat. Add sausage; cook 5 minutes or until well browned. Remove sausage from pot with a slotted spoon, reserving drippings in pot. Stir in bell pepper and onion; cook until vegetables are softened. Stir in salt and next 3 ingredients; cook 1 minute or until spices are fragrant. Add chicken brought and tomato sauce, stirring to loosen browned bits from bottom of pot. Stir in beans; cover, reduce heat, and simmer 20 minutes.

2. Bring mixture to a boil and cook, uncovered, 20 more minutes or until liquid is slightly thickened. Stir in sausage, and cook until heated through.

3. Divide rice among serving bowls; top with bean mixture, and dollop with pimiento cheese. Garnish, if desired. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

 

Yesterday I got an e-mail that I had a comment on my blog. (Thanks, Tim!)

Unfortunately, the comment was to very gently inform me that my fractions were a mess. (They were.)

But Tim had perfect timing, because it turns out I'd been looking for a nudge to return to my little corner of the Internet. There's a reason I still renew the domain every year even when I've been abysmal about tidying up the place.

I'd also recently made this curry, which I loved, and read an inspiring blog post at Souvlaki for the Soul about shooting with artificial light (dark backgrounds! fun!), and I was reintroduced to everything I love about posting to on the woodside.

I love the cooking, of course—though less so my inevitable forgetfulness, which always requires a second trip to the grocery store, a phenomenon that somehow never occurs when I'm not show-off cooking—and I love the cerebral solitude. I like being creative and easing off the pressures (no, I do not have to post every single day; yes, brown rice can suck it because basmati rice is better always always always do not let health nuts tell you lies).

This peppy little curry is chock-full of vegetables—cauliflower, chickpeas, kale—but you can change them up to whatever you like. (I'm thinking lentils, potato, and spinach would be lovely, too.) I roast the veggies first because I like the way it softens the cauliflower and gives it a pretty golden glow, and I love the crackling pages of kale melting into the sauce.

The aromatics—onion, garlic, ginger—are a must, as is the smooth coconut milk and smattering of cilantro. The chickpeas and curry paste give the whole thing life, with just-right texture and heat. (Though you'll notice that tall drink of Huy Fong in the background, because I can't help myself.)

And with all that nutritious goodness rocking around in the bowl, please make yourself some basmati rice. It's fragrant and sticky and brilliant, and it will make you happy. Brown rice is for sad people.

Let me know what you think!


Kale, Cauliflower, and Chickpea Curry

1 bunch kale
1 small head cauliflower
Extra virgin olive oil
Kosher salt
Black pepper
Dried crushed red pepper
1 yellow onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 (2-inch) piece ginger, minced
2 cups vegetable broth
1 (13.66-ounce) can light coconut milk
2 tablespoons red curry paste
1 teaspoon fish sauce
1 (15-ounce) can reduced-sodium garbanzo beans 
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Cilantro
Hot cooked basmati rice
Garnish: sriracha

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Strip leaves from kale, discarding stems. Core cauliflower and break into bite-size florets. Place kale leaves and cauliflower florets on a rimmed baking sheet; drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with kosher salt, pepper, and dried crushed red pepper. Bake 20 to 30 minutes or until cauliflower are tender and browned, and kale is crispy.

2. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a heavy-bottomed skillet. Add onions; cook 5 minutes or until translucent. Add garlic and ginger; cook 1 to 2 minutes or until fragrant. Add broth, stirring to deglaze pan. Stir in coconut milk, curry paste, fish sauce, and chickpeas.

3. In a small bowl, combine cornstarch and 1 tablespoon water. Stir into broth mixture, and bring to a boil. Stir in roasted kale and cauliflower; cover, reduce heat, and simmer 20 minutes. Sprinkle with cilantro, and serve with basmati rice. Garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.


 

I suppose it's becoming more and more obvious all the time that we like ourselves some Mexican food around here. 

I have many friends who love a good chile relleno, and while I do appreciate them, I tend not to order them because I don't want to miss out on soft tortillas and crisp pico de gallo and cool, crunchy lettuce.

I'm a tacos al carbon girl, as a rule.

This one might seem a little insane (but I swear I'm not the first to try it; it's not an original idea!): the chicken tikka masala burrito.

I am many things when I am in the kitchen: I am busy, I am focused, I am thrilled and open and curious and excited. The one thing I am not is calm. 

Or very good at estimating volume.

What you see before you is slightly odd, which I know is not what you've come to expect on the Woodside. 

Ahem.

LSis says I can't let the Woodside occupy this particular corner of the Internet with that as my last post. So I'm back! And I made a ridiculously unseasonable dish for September in Alabama!

Hey, remember when I used to cook? Ah, those were the days ...

Me: I can't believe it took me until I was *ahem* years old before I started to understand what it means to crave something.
Little Sister: It sure does make eating more satisfying.

I've only recently discovered the joy of Soup As A Meal, largely because I have very high expectations for it—there needs to be, above all, plenty of texture; I have a deep-seated and possibly irrationally enthusiastic distaste for anything that smacks of "drinking my dinner."

(Exceptions may be made for large bottles of Cabernet, if they are accompanied by snacks made of cheese.)

The classic grilled-cheese-sandwich-and-tomato-soup combination has always failed to excite me, mostly because I find tomato soup so dimensionless. It can be spicy, yes, or herby or rich or velvety, but there's no ... well, chew.

Don't even get me started on smoothies. If I don't need my teeth, it's not food.

This soup, on the other hand, hit all the right notes—chunky and hearty and satisfying, and certainly NOT possible to be consumed with a straw. The recipe, adapted from Food & Whine (genius), has all of the spicy warmth that I love from the coconut soup at my favorite local Thai restaurant, with a few surprising additions—lemongrass, tomato paste, Worcestershire sauce—that keep you with your head buried in the bowl.

I picked up a packet of cilantro in the fresh herbs section of the grocery store before coming home to find out that I would have to surrender my gold star for reading comprehension for the day. It was actually something called "culantro," marketed as having a similar flavor to cilantro but the shelf life of a much more robust herb. I ... sorta hated it. The flavor was lovely, to be sure, but the cactus-like spininess was off-putting.

Remind me to start that herb garden I keep not following through on.



Thai Chicken-and-Rice Soup
3 tablespoons butter
2 cups basmati rice
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons sunflower oil, divided
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 small red bell pepper, diced
1 cup sliced mushrooms
4 cups fat-free, low-sodium chicken broth
2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, diced
2 tablespoons lemongrass paste
1 teaspoon fish sauce
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 cup half & half
½ cup lite coconut milk
2 teaspoons red curry paste
1½ teaspoons chili paste or sriracha
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Garnishes: chopped cilantro leaves, sriracha

1. Bring butter and 4 cups water to a boil. Stir in rice and salt; cover, reduce heat to low, and cook 20 minutes. Remove rice to a large bowl.
2. Return pan to burner over medium heat, and add 1 tablespoon oil. Sauté mushrooms until just softened. Remove mushrooms from pan, and set aside.
3. Add remaining 1 tablespoon oil to pan, and sauté onion and bell pepper just until softened. Stir in reserved mushrooms, chicken broth, and chicken, stirring until heated through.
4. Stir in lemongrass, fish sauce, and Worcestershire sauce, and simmer 5 minutes. Stir in half & half and coconut milk; cover, reduce heat to low, and simmer 2 more minutes.
5. Combine curry paste, chili paste, tomato paste, cornstarch, and 2 tablespoons water in a small bowl; add to soup, stirring until it thickens slightly. Stir in 2 cups cooked rice, cover, and simmer 5 minutes.
6. Serve soup with remaining cooked rice; garnish, if desired. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

Tikka masala, from what I understand, is a mostly British invention, one that—aside from the flavor profiles—doesn't have a whole lot to do with authentic Indian cooking. I happen to love authentic Indian cooking, or what passes for it in the Deep South. (Although I'm pretty sure the dishes are closer to the homeland in more diverse metropolises; I once ordered the spiciest dish on the menu at an Indian restaurant in DC—not out of false bravado, but because I thought it sounded good—and the waiter good-naturedly refused to bring me more than one glass of water because he didn't think I could handle the heat. It was insane, and amazing, and blistering, and I was high for hours afterward.)

Still, I'm not sure why some people turn their nose up at anything that deviates from tradition. If I love something, chances are I'm going to love its bastardization just as much! If not more! See Mexican Salad Pizza, for heaven's sake. Most of the Mexicans I know would be all, "Take our name off that, por favor."

This, like most popularized perversions of culinary conventions, is quintessential comfort food. I prefer an adaptation of Pastor Ryan's version, courtesy of The Pioneer Woman. There's heat here, to be sure, but it's not the eyes-watering sort. (My 15-month-old niece loved this, after grocery store limitations forced me to omit the jalapeños.) The cream—and there is plenty of it; comfort food comes at the expense of waistlines—mitigates any aggressive spiciness and leaves behind a soothing warmth that's perfection on cold nights after stressful days.

I usually do add a jalapeño, and I find that my chicken has to be much closer to the broiler than Ryan suggests to get the blackening effect (which is delicious). I use Greek yogurt, because I like the gentle sourness and the easy way it sticks to the chicken. The turmeric in the rice isn't necessary—I don't find that it adds any flavor, particularly—but that electric color is spectacular. You'll want the peas, too, which Ryan says are optional; they cut some of the richness. I can live without the sugar, because I generally think canned tomatoes aren't that acidic, but I'll leave it in the recipe for those who want an extra touch of sweetness. Don't be put off by strange words like "garam masala"—it's a spice mixture that, if you can find it in my neighborhood market, you can find anywhere. Aside from broiling the chicken this is essentially a two-pan meal, so it's perfect for a weeknight dinner. And it's easy to adjust the quantities depending on how many people you need to feed.

LSis tends to call this "chicken marsala," which confuses me because that's a dish of a different color, but I will say to you what she says to me when I correct her: "Whatever," tikka masala. I love you, ya crazy bastard.



Tikka Masala
3 to 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
Kosher salt, to taste
Ground coriander, to taste
Ground cumin, to taste
½ cup plain fat-free Greek yogurt
6 tablespoons butter, divided
1 tablespoon turmeric
2 cups basmati rice
1 large onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 (2-inch) piece fresh ginger, peeled and minced
1 jalapeño, minced
3 tablespoons garam masala
1 (28-ounce) can diced tomatoes
1 tablespoon sugar (optional)
1½ cups heavy cream
6 ounces frozen peas
Fresh cilantro leaves

1. Preheat broiler to high heat. Season chicken breasts with kosher salt, coriander, and cumin. Dip chicken breasts in yogurt, coating all sides. Place on a baking sheet under broiler, and cook 5 to 7 minutes per side. (It should have slightly blackened edges.) Remove from oven, and let cool slightly.

2. Bring 4 cups of water, 4 tablespoons butter, turmeric, and 1 tablespoon kosher salt to boil in medium saucepan. Stir in rice; reduce heat to low, cover, and cook 20 minutes.

3. In a large, deep skillet, melt remaining 2 tablespoons butter over medium-high heat; add onions, and sauté until lightly browned. Stir in garlic, ginger, and 1 tablespoon kosher salt; cook 30 seconds. Stir in jalapeño and garam masala until well mixed; add tomatoes. Stir in sugar, if desired. Reduce heat to medium, and simmer 5 minutes.

3. Reduce heat to low, and stir cream into sauce. Chop cooked chicken, add to sauce, and cook until heated through. Stir in cilantro.

4. Add peas to cooked rice, stirring until heated through. Top rice with chicken and sauce, and garnish with more fresh cilantro leaves. Makes 6 servings.

I'm finding, as I attempt to make meals that clean out the refrigerator and/or use ingredients I have on hand that are heading toward their death, that I'm extraordinarily inefficient at it. Two days ago, for example, when I was all, "I'm using up the collard greens!" I a) had to discard two separate browning half heads of iceberg and four (!) almost-finished bags of what used to be shredded lettuce but had become an unrecognizable science experiment, and b) I bought more ingredients to supplement the greens in the first place.

Math is hard.

Last night I had similarly noble intentions, and managed to find a perfectly good use for ... three eggs. Oops.

In my defense, I wanted to make something sort of one-pot and easy, something that would fill my belly but not sap my brain. My brain needed a break yesterday, time to reflect and go for a freezing run and laugh and curl up with the dog and hug other people's babies.

(Seriously, people, it's February in the Deep South and it's been gray for days. It's currently sleeting, and every third e-mail in my inbox is a screeching reminder from TurboTax. I'm going to need to be borrowing your babies.)

I just pulled this recipe out of the air, in an attempt to accomplish the aforementioned not-thinking. I'd use Napa cabbage if you can get it. (I couldn't.) My dear friend sriracha features prominently here; I'm forever indebted to JFro for making our introduction. If runny yolks are not your friend, you could easily stir fry eggs into the rice as it finishes cooking, but all that luscious richness helps emulsify these flavors into something they aren't on their own. I did not have just one serving.

And thanks to my inimitable coworker, M, who gifted me with the sake that made this meal, and my evening, just that much warmer. (She will wince at the presence of butter in the rice-making equation, but I've found it indispensible—it makes it impossible for those who tend to forget the rice is even cooking to end up with it glued to the bottom of the pan. Forgive me, father, for I have lazied.)



Pork-and-Cabbage Rice Bowl with Fried Egg
¼ cup soy sauce
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 tablespoon fish sauce
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 (2-inch) piece ginger, peeled and minced
Sriracha, to taste
2 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups basmati rice
1 pound ground pork
½ head green or Napa cabbage, shredded
3 to 4 green onions, chopped
2 tablespoons cornstarch
4 eggs
Garnishes: sriracha, green onions

1. Whisk together first 7 ingredients in a small bowl; set aside.

2. Bring butter, salt, and 4 cups water to a boil over high heat. Stir in rice; cover, reduce heat to low, and cook 20 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, add pork to a large, dry skillet over medium-high heat; sauté until browned. Stir in cabbage, and cook 2 to 3 minutes or until lightly wilted. Stir in reserved soy sauce mixture and green onions.

4. Whisk together cornstarch and 2 tablespoons water in a small bowl. Add to skillet with pork, cabbage, and sauce, and stir to combine. Reduce heat to low, and let simmer until sauce thickens slightly.

5. In a small skillet, fry eggs until whites are cooked but yolks are still runny. Spoon rice and pork mixture into individual serving bowls; top each with a fried egg. Garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.

And guess what? This happened to me yesterday.



I'm OBSESSED with foodgawker, so to me this is the equivalent of being asked to sit at the cool kids' table. I promise to well and truly embarrass myself.