Chicken Tetrazzini comes to life

So here is the final product. Apologies for the late report; I made this about five weeks ago. On future projects I'll try to make the blogging closer to the cooking.

It was definitely a two-tiered event. Day #1 was buying and cooking the chicken; Day #2 was making and cooking the tetrazzini.  I emphasize "cooking" on both days because that had to be strategically worked around my day job (teaching). Teaching one or even two classes, as it turns out, creates an effective "rest period" for something on the stove or in the oven. Luckily, I live very close to my job so that I can scurry back and forth.

I received lots of kudos from a close friend and my boyfriend. They're my dependable taste-testers. I also got some chicken stock out of the project, which I admire in the freezer. Okay, so I can cook and blog!

Update #2

Okay, so I lied about the chicken being from Georgia.  I don't know that for sure.  I've seen "Georgia chicken" on a sign at Fresh Market before, so I made the leap.  I am sure about the antibiotic free though (damnit).

The chicken was completely done when I came home from class. I fished it out of the pot and now it's  "resting" -- long day! -- in the refrigerator.  I tried to salvage every bit of chicken broth that I could, strainer and all. Authors Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins call it the "best kind of frozen assets."

My hands smell like chicken fat. Time for bed.

Quick update

In the spirit of Julie's blog (meaning Julie of Julie and Julia, if you didn't read my last entry), here's a quick update.

The Georgia-raised antibiotic-free chicken breasts and one leg (all bone-in with skin, but some skin cut off, of course) is on low boil with any healthy stuff I could find from the fridge and onions and carrots, all bought from Fresh Market.  This may be more information that you need, but that's my big update. My house smells amazing. Must remember to turn off the stove to let it sit when I leave to teach class this afternoon (ah, details in the life of a chef).

The other exciting thing is (aside from the pending Chicken Tetrazzini) that I'll have chicken broth left over to make tomato soup for cute boyfriend -- another reason to cook and blog!

Julie and Julia

It seems natural to write about food in a blog. Who hasn't been inspired to cook and blog (and cook and blog) after seeing Julie and Julia? Amy Adams played Julie Powell, a city worker who takes calls from Lower Manhattan in the aftermath of 9/11. Feeling deflated and drained, she decides to follow her passion and write a daily blog for one year as she tries each recipe in Julia Child's first cook book (Mastering the Art of French Cooking).

The amazing thing to me was not so much that she cooked everyday -- though that's way beyond me -- but that she wrote everyday. Maybe her daily blog was just a few sentences on why the sauce took so long or her husband's opinion on the final product. Still, she blogged (meaning she posted to her blog) everyday. I'm trying to write everyday right now, somewhat unsuccessfully.

In addition, I'm a plodder, so the idea of doing anything everyday appeals to me. In fact a daily plod is the only way that I can imagine tackling the challenging areas in my life, like writing. It's one of those, I love it / I hate it activities; there's the possibility of being in love with the outcome, and of  great frustration. As Julie said, "it's sort of like being in AA; you have to do it one day at  time."

I could also relate to Julie because she's frustrated by her lack of success along any one path. In one scene she's lying on the bed talking to her mother who marvels at the recipe-a-day plan. "You've never stuck to anything." My mother would never say that, but I've gotten that feeling from others. Not that it's terrible, but I've fretted about a lack of goals, or at least accomplishments that I can point to. What are my goals? (See previous posts for reference to this problem.)

So here goes. I want to cook and blog too.  The next time you hear from me I will have made the following recipe:

https://www.thechunkychef.com/one-pot-chicken-tetrazzini/


Considering that I teach four classes and consider carry-out as my cooking activity, this is a big feat. It involves cooking some part of a chicken, or a whole chicken, which may require a separate blog entry.

Bon Appétit!

Teacher Voice

A friend from University of Louisville once said that she used "teacher voice" during a party at her house to get everyone out of the kitchen (or move them to some desired location). I think that teachers do have "teacher voice," and a belief that, for the most part, others will pay attention.

I used mine once on a plane. A big-wig basketball recruiter was standing in the aisle next to my seat talking to the big-wig person next to me. (I was eaves dropping.) The stewardess had repeatedly made the "please take your seat" announcement. I surprised even myself when I looked up at him and said, "Sit!"  He responded. My students respond to one-word commends. They think it's funny.

Teacher voice surfaced recently at a neighborhood coffee shop, Foxy Loxy, but with moderate success. Another attribute of teachers is our powers of observation; we're always watching. My boyfriend and I were next in line and I was taking stock of the girl in front of me. At first I thought that the rustic counter top was swaying -- could that be? -- but then I realized that it was the girl! A few seconds later her knees buckled and she was lying face up at our feet. I gasped and shouted to the barista, "She just fainted; call 911!" He peered over the counter, not half as alarmed as I would have liked him to be. Maybe this happens every now and then; students are the primary clientele and they aren't the best at self-care.

I must have repeated my demand. "Okay," he relented. Within a few seconds, the girl revived, explaining that she was just overly-thirsty. The barista said he'd get her some water, probably relieved at his new assignment.

I wasn't finished, though. I said to the girl as she was getting up: "You really should go see a doctor." She seemed to be recovering quickly, so I turned to the line of people closed in behind us (Foxy Loxy's ordering area is very cozy). In moderate teacher voice, I explained that whenever a person loses consciousness, that person needs to go see a doctor. (This was drilled in to me by my mom's doctor; she had occasional fainting spells, which we would casually mention to the doctor a few days later). People peered past me to the sausage kolaches in the case. My boyfriend suggested that I order.

We saw the girl once we settled out on the patio. She thanked me. I told my boyfriend that he was lucky I didn't try mouth-to-mouth. Her nose ring may have caught on my earring and there would have been even more of a scene.

Actually, I don't know CPR, but that's now on my to do list. Teachers have to be prepared for the next time we're needed.

The Roof

A therapist once told me, don't offer to help a neighbor with their roof if yours is leaking.

That was perfect advice for me. I tend to overextend myself (as a friend observed) and, when I do, I'm usually ignoring what I should be doing in some important area.

I'd like to do a lot of things, but then I think of the roving pile upstairs that has ebbed out of one of the guest rooms. It started as a pile of books from graduate school and then grew to include a pile of receipts. Sometimes the receipts live in a basket, sometimes in a drawer, but their preferred spot is next to the pile of books.

When I had a party, a couple parties ago, I moved all kinds of piles upstairs. The result was a respectable ("tawlable," as they say in the South) downstairs, but an upstairs that has become a little scary.  The books and receipts were joined by a small tin of clipped recipes, two unkempt plastic filing structures (one for finances, one for travel), and an overstuffed magazine basket. An issue of Time lies in the paper island and a picture of Donald Trump looms up at me with every trip up and down the stairs.

In addition to the awful look that my upstairs has acquired, I hate the feel of walking on paper. I've become pretty good at tip-toeing over it at night.

How do you eat an elephant, another friend suggested. That's how you clean the upstairs, one bite at a time. Then I won't have to sneak around the pile to help a neighbor.

Marlyn

A few weeks ago I found out that my cousin Marlyn died. I was so sad and shocked to hear it. As another cousin, Jeanne, said, she was the matriarch of the family.

I'll never forget one of the times that I met Marlyn during a visit to Cincinnati. We made plans to meet at a breakfast / lunch place, First Watch. When I got there she was waiting for me at a table, facing the front door. She made such a special event out of meeting me.

Marlyn and I are related because our mothers were first cousins. She placed a great value on family, her immediate family of course, but also extended family. Marlyn was fun and open minded and smart. She was such a wonderful example of taking care of, and including family.

Marlyn's father, Julian, was a clothier in Indiana. I didn't know him well, but I do remember that for a brief time Marlyn worked at a men's clothing store in Cincinnati. The owners asked if she'd work part time after seeing her make selections for her husband and probably interact with customers. For other activities, I'm sure that she volunteered, though I don't know the details. Marlyn took care of her mom, who resides in Cincinnati, and was a wonderful mom to her two sons and grandmother to their children. She traveled with her husband Alan and was fantastic at entertaining. I have so many memories of family gatherings at their house.

One of the reasons that I enjoy my mom's side of the family is that there's never been a guilt aura around a visit or contact. There's appreciation, and more contact is always welcomed, but never the "why haven't we heard from you?" feeling. It's nice.

When I talk about my mom's family, I typically say, to explain my far flung connections, "I have a lot of cousins around my age;" "they're very cool people;" and "if I met them socially I'd like them anyway." I could do a better job at staying in touch. Now that it's summer, why not? It's important to know who you're from. I like those parts of myself.

Technology troubles

Technology has always been empowering, but these days it's more of a necessity, that is unless you want to feel like a Luddite.

I should know, because I'm a technology laggard, which is a technical term (ironic, huh?) from the diffusion of innovations theory (Rogers, 1962). The theory explains how an innovation gains momentum within a particular social system. Laggards are the last among five categories of innovation joiners leaping on to what has become a slow moving train well after the innovators and early adopters have already begun to make some gadget affordable and understandable.

It's also ironic that this theory is about the momentum of accepting new innovations. I don't think that I've experienced technology momentum, ever. There's simply a small victory, like learning another way to delete a message, followed by a period of no-new-learning.

I wonder why.  I like technology, and feel depressed being left behind. The worst part is the language.  Obviously, with new stuff comes new language, and when you don't know what people are saying, it's like never having seen that movie that just won multiple Academy awards. You're out of it (meaning I'm out of it).

I think that my problem is the frustration. In fact, technology seems like guaranteed frustration. Who  wants to encounter frustration, particularly in the early part of the day? I guess that I need to keep in mind that feeling of ebullience when something goes right. It's triumph over luddite-self.

I'm terrified that, instead of daily runs at questions like how to rig my phone to hear a podcast in the car, or syncing my phone and computer (see, I told you a was a beginner), I'll keep at the same repetitive tasks that I know I can accomplish (clean kitchen, grade papers, etc.).

No!  I'm determined. More to come.

Rogers, E.M. (1962) Diffusion of innovations. NY:  Free Press.