Last night, this chef flew solo. Sans recipe. And boy was I nervous.
The hubby had left chicken thawing in the fridge for me, so I knew at least the main ingredient. Throughout the day I found myself tempted to google recipes; but I stood by my mission of trying to create half of these culinary masterpieces entirely by the seat of my pants (and hopefully tasting better than the…neverind).
Around 5 p.m., I decided I’d put it off long enough. Time to fly. I rummaged in the pantry and found a box of plain couscous, a canister of breadcrumbs, a can of diced tomatoes and flour. Then from the spice rack, I grabbed basil, Italian seasoning and rosemary. I’d considered dill, but remembered someone (Alton? Jamie?) saying if herbs smell good together, they’ll taste good together. I sniffed all the herbs together, decided dill didn’t fit the mix and put it back. I’ll try it another time.
I found a sharp knife and the cutting board and went to task cleaning the chicken.
Of all the things that can be done in a kitchen, handling raw meat is my least favorite. I blame too many years of anatomy and physiology classes with cadavers. (Sorry. Gross, I know. But true. No eating of turkey legs for this girl. I could very easily become a vegetarian, if I didn’t crave a delicious New York strip steak now and again.) While I was slicing off all of the less-than-savory bits from the chicken breasts, the hubby walked in an laughed at me. “Your favorite part?” My response wasn’t unlike a growl.
With the chicken done (and my hands cleaned, ugh), I combined a little flour with the breadcrumbs, Italian seasoning and the rosemary. Oh, and salt and pepper. I mixed it all up in a bowl and coated one of the chicken breasts in the mixture.
It didn’t stick. Oops.
Back to the pantry. I grabbed some olive oil, poured it in a bowl and dredged the chicken breasts in it. Then I coated them in the breadcrumb mixture.
Have I mentioned I don’t know what I’m doing?
I decided to broil the chicken. I put the breasts on a cooking stone, set the broiler to low and the timer to ten minutes. (I figured I’d work in ten minute increments, just to stay on the safe side.)
Time to tackle the couscous. I read the instructions on the box — having decided that wasn’t technically a recipe — and pulled a medium sauce pan from the cupboard. I poured the can of tomatoes in the pan, plus a 1/4 cup of water and some basil. Winging it, totally. Once the tomatoes boiled, I poured in the box of couscous in, removed it from the burner and set the timer to five minutes.
Do you see the timing problem here? Chicken set to ten minutes, and certain not to be done; couscous ready in five? Hmm.
The timer for the chicken went off and I checked on it. It smelled really good and I was encouraged. I turned the breasts over, upped the temp to high and set the timer for another ten minutes.
To ensure my children would at least enjoy something on their plates, I boiled some water in a small saucepan and cooked some frozen peas.
The timer went off for the couscous. I removed the lid and fluffed the concoction with a fork. Nice color. Didn’t smell bad. All good. I set the lid back on to keep it warm and set the table.
After the oven beeped, I cut into each chicken breast. Unbelievable! They both were done. I plated everything and called the family to dinner.
Behold! Chicken with couscous:
Chicken with couscous
The results were mixed. The hubby and kids (and I) agreed the chicken was good. Like, surprisingly good! And there was much rejoicing.
The couscous…not so much. Not only did none of us really like the couscous I’d prepared, but none of us really liked couscous, period. And, oh goody, we had 55 gallons of it. I insisted we all at least eat the tomatoes from our servings. Deal.
Behold! 55 gallons of tomato couscous:
55 gallons of couscous
The peas were fine. They were peas. *shrug*
Number of dishes dirtied in the process: Five, plus utensils
Resulting disaster in kitchen: pretty messy, took some effort cleaning up
Reaction from family to meal: positive on the chicken and peas, overarching “bleayah” on the couscous
Lessons learned: Timing is everything; this family doesn’t like couscous
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