When we were 14 and just approaching the point of driving we imagined the freedom, the ability to go anywhere and to do anything. When we first got our licenses, and perhaps drove a vehicle belonging to someone else, therefore sharing costs, a sense of adulthood began to settle over us. While in college, cars may have represented long, late night adventures with friends, and shoving too many people in without seatbelts.
And then we moved away from home. Bought our own cars, paid for our own gas, had to keep up with oil changes sans reminders from a parent... and eventually, yes for all of us, eventually we had to deal with a breakdown. A tow. A replacement part. An expensive repair. Always, always at the worst possible moment. Never during an off week, or a time we can call in sick, always during our busiest moment.
It's like they know.
This past week was just that moment in the Pseudoadulthood home. J. was in the midst of production week and weekend, and his car decided it no longer wanted to start. A jump didn't work, switching out the battery with mine didn't work (and now mine makes a beeping noise when I turn it off...) and hitting the starter with tiny hammers (which is apparently a thing?) didn't work. After a week of driving J. into work in the morning, we were finally able to find enough time in our schedules to get his car towed, due at least in part to the kindness of his coworkers, generous enough to let us use their AAA, and it is now back, and working, parked snugly in our driveway.
Between paychecks and right as bills are due, of course.
During this debacle, we ate a lot of meals at the school, but as our bodies are not accustomed to eating at 5:30 in the afternoon, and are instead used to our ridiculous schedule of eating at around 8:00, we often resorted to second dinners. Because we're hobbits, apparently. And also, incidentally, is part of the reason I'm convinced I'll never get a decent picture of my cooking, as there is no daylight at 8:00 at night. Or even at 5:30, this time of year.
My absolute favorite, freakishly simple four ingredient pasta sauce is a lifesaver. Not only does it come together quickly, but it's amazingly delicious, meaty without any meat in the sauce, hearty but not overwhelming, and perfect paired with pasta or chicken or ravioli, our food of choice this week. We even used it as pizza sauce one night, and it worked just perfectly.
Four Ingredient Pasta Sauce
Slightly adapted from Smitten Kitchen
One large (28 ounce) can of crushed tomatoes
One onion, halved
5 tablespoons butter
2 cloves garlic, lightly smashed
Put all of the ingredients in a pot. Bring to a boil at medium heat, then turn heat to low. Simmer for 45 minutes. Eat with whatever sounds good.
If you're like me, and believe that onions are proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy, the onions, by the end of this process, are delicious on bread, or even just with a fork straight out of the pot. If, like J., you believe that onions are inedible (and don't ask me why, because I don't understand) they don't add any perceptible or strong "onion" taste to this sauce, and it's still delicious on it's own.
Sometimes, though, I crave foods that look nice. I, apparently, harbor a secret (or now not so secret) desire to cook like a chef, and to present food that is nice to look at, as well as to eat. More photogenic food. And as I used to joke that if I opened a restaurant it would have to be called "Uglifood" due to the fact that my meals seem to taste great, even while looking like slop on a plate. So when I saw this recipe, I knew I had to make an attempt.
It was a good choice.
No, I mean it. It was a really, really good choice. As in, go buy these ingredients and make this chicken right now. Or at your earliest possible convenience, at least.
This is delicious. The marinade turns into this sort of glazy sauce, making the potatoes have this buttery mouthfeel with no butter in the recipe. The lemon is light and adds this huge punch of flavor without being overpowering, the combination of lemon with the amazing floral notes of rosemary and the hint of garlic is probably the greatest combination ever. By tomorrow I'll probably think that an exaggeration, but right now I'm still wandering into the kitchen every few minutes to grab a forkfull of potato and shallot out of the pan, and the taste is divine, and I can't imagine anything being better in the entire world. Except maybe the mushrooms, which melt in your mouth and take on a whole new dimension due to the aforementioned glaze-sauce-thing.
I did say to go get the ingredients now, right?
Rosemary Skillet Chicken
Lightly adapted from Minimally Invasive
3/4 pound small red-skinned potatoes, halved, or quartered if large
Kosher Salt
2 sprigs fresh rosemary, plus 1 1/2 tablespoons leaves
2 cloves garlic, smashed
Pinch of red pepper flakes
Juice of 2 lemons (squeezed halves reserved)
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 skin-on, bone-in chicken breasts
2 sprigs fresh rosemary, plus 1 1/2 tablespoons leaves
2 cloves garlic, smashed
Pinch of red pepper flakes
Juice of 2 lemons (squeezed halves reserved)
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 skin-on, bone-in chicken breasts
10 ounces mushrooms, halved
One shallot, quartered
Preheat the oven to 450. Cover the potatoes with cold water in a saucepan and salt the water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and cook until tender, about 8 minutes; drain and set aside.
Pile the rosemary leaves, garlic, 2 teaspoons salt and the red pepper flakes on a cutting board, then mince and mash into a paste using a large knife. I have no decent knives, so instead I did my best, and then ran the whole thing through a food processor. A mortar and pestle would probably also do the trick. Transfer the paste to a bowl. Stir in the juice of 1 lemon and the olive oil. Add the chicken and turn to coat.
Heat a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Add the chicken, skin-side down, cover and cook until the skin browns, about 5 minutes. Remove chicken from pan; add the mushrooms, shallot, and potatoes to the skillet, place chicken on top, and drizzle with any marinade remaining in the bowl and the juice of the remaining lemon. I have a not terribly well seasoned skillet (it's making it's way back, I swear) and worried briefly about potatoes sticking, which I hate. It did not happen, so no worries folks, go ahead and just put them in.
Add the rosemary sprigs and the squeezed lemon halves to the skillet; transfer to the oven and roast, uncovered, until the chicken is cooked through and the skin is crisp, 20 to 25 minutes, or longer if the pieces are absolutely gigantic, as ours were tonight.
This would probably work equally well with boneless skinless (and I intend to do that next time we have this meal) with a few adjustments. I would go ahead and marinade the chicken in the garlic/rosemary/red pepper/olive oil/lemon juice mixture for 15-20 minutes, brown only very briefly, and check the roasting after 15 minutes, depending on the size of the pieces.
My kitchen smells like rosemary and lemon, and it is glorious.
