Bad Chicken, Good Cookies!

I swear I'm going to get better about writing my Spunky Scenes down here.  My husband always tells me that he loves to read what happens in our house while he's gone.  This Scene, however, he was present and fully involved with.  A dinner favorite in our household is a rather simple recipe: Bruschetta Chicken with rice and steamed broccoli.

Now, the other night, I had all of this planned perfectly.  I didn't marinate the chicken all day... I was actually planning on having this meal two nights after the night I actually made it.  But again, those cravings get in the way and you just can't fight 'em.  I just finished a three year tour in Guam, where all of the chicken is flown in and frozen so it has been a while since we have had fresh chicken.  When I pulled the chicken out of the package, I could smell this stench that I find no words to describe.  It was kind of fishy, kind of foul, but mostly chicken-like.  When I looked online for some help, I read a lot of webpages that said that chicken that has never been frozen, and only refrigerated, will smell different than frozen chicken.  So I pushed onward and upward.

I did wash the chicken before I cooked them.  This is a habit I fell into years ago when my friend pointed out that you never know who is touching your chicken, beef, pork, etc.  I don't use antibacterial stuff on it, I just give it a good hose-down and call it good.  When I did that, the smell subsided some.  Then, when I cooked the chicken, it was gone.  Problem solved, right?  Apparently, not so much.

We all sat at the table, plates piping hot and smelling delicious.  The baby is sneaking fists full of rice in her mouth, and the five year old is popping baby trees before we get the blessing out.  My husband is pouring our glasses of wine (an end of the day treat that we allow ourselves about three times a week) and I take a bite of that chicken to test it out.  I over cooked it a little... just in case.  I wanted to make sure I didn't dry it out, but at the same time, I wanted to kill everything that could have been making that smell.  The bruschetta mixture was perfect.  Full of strong vinegar flavors coming from the artichoke hearts and italian dressing.  The sweetness of the tomatoes cut through the vinegar to make it tolerable and mouth watering.  The mozzarella cheese brought some salt to the dish, and added creaminess.  The chicken, however... rotten.  The smell may have gone away with cooking, but the rottenness didn't.  I brought the table to a halt immediately and smelled the dish.  I could just barely smell a hint of fishiness and some rotten chicken smell.  I told everybody to dump their plates of the chicken, and my husband began to research how to tell if your chicken is bad.  His results came out the same as mine.

Frustrated that my cravings were only THAT close to being resolved, I started clearing the plates of the chicken.  Hosting my own pity party, and throwing a small temper tantrum (it is my party, and I'll cry if I want to darn it) for about five minutes, the girls started getting fussy with hunger.  I placed plates of rice and broccoli in front of them while my husband walked over to our pantry and grabbed out a box of Girl Scout Thanks A Lots.  The girls were confused: cookies for dinner?  It lifted my spirits: cookies for dinner!  My cravings weren't consoled, but my pity party had been crashed by a delicious shortbread cookie with a layer of fudge on the bottom.

The dinner didn't turn out too terrible after all.  Christina loved the cookies:

And while Samantha enjoyed a couple for herself, she came back to the rice and broccoli and had seconds, even thirds!  She's my healthy eater:

So I guess the lesson learned that day was "If you serve bad chicken to your family, make sure you have some good cookies to make up for it!"

Here is my recipe for those of you who would like to give it a try.  Feel free to add, delete, or otherwise change it up!

Chicken (enough to feed your clan).  You can use any part of said chicken that you'd like... I prefer the thighs and drumsticks because the kids love those parts.  My husband enjoys the bigger pieces... so white meat, dark meat, take your pick.

1 can diced tomatoes.  Sometimes I use the small dices, sometimes I get the regular sized ones.  It really only depends on what is on sale that week at the grocer.

1/2 bottle of italian salad dressing.  Here I go with the "whatever is on sale that week" tid-bit.  Last week, I used the Publix brand... but the time before that I used Wishbone.  Doesn't really matter which kind.  I have also used the fat free versions, and the full fat versions.  It's really your choice!

1 can artichoke hearts, chopped.  This is the first time I've used these in the recipe.  Honestly, I was craving them and wanted to try something different.  I loved them!

Mozzarella cheese: enough to top the chicken with.

Rice: enough to feed your clan.

Broccoli: enough to feed your clan.

Combine your can of chopped artichoke hearts, diced tomatoes, and 1/2 bottle of italian dressing.  Reserve about 1/3 of it for later.  Use the other 2/3 of it as a marinade for your chicken pieces.  You can put them in a gallon sized bag, but I use this Tupperware marinade thingy and love it.  I tend to make this in the morning after I clean up the breakfast dishes and flip it every other hour or so.  Forget to toss it together that early?  No problem!  It works well as a 20 minute marinade as well.  Once you're ready to pop it in the oven, make sure it's preheated at 375* and cook until done.  Don't cook in the marinade juices, toss those.  But about 5 minutes before you're ready to pull those bad boys out, top the last 1/3 of your marinade on the chicken pieces, and sprinkle some cheese on top.  Serve with rice and steamed broccoli (or your choice of vegetables) and you've got yourself a healthy, flavorful, low fat meal!

It's a cheese stick incident, again!

When my older daughter, Samantha, was just starting to walk on her own, she quickly learned that the refrigerator meant food. It was glorious for her, walking to the fridge with the dazzling light shining down upon all of the tasty things she could eat. I could see in her eyes that she would have an almost religious experience every time I opened the heavy door for her to choose her snack, with angels singing in her ears and all. Her go-to snack was (as is true for most little ones) string cheese. "Tees, mommy. Tees, please" she would say in her adorable mispronunciation. Happy to oblige her with a healthy snack, I would open the cheese drawer, pull out one mozzarella string cheese, and open it as she studied my every move.

It wasn't long before she figured out how to open that enormous door. For a child of only 13 months, she was quite strong. She would help me carry the groceries from the front door to the kitchen, choosing the gallon jugs of vinegar over the lighter boxes of tissue. She was able to power through the strong suction of the refrigerator door to swing it wide and gaze upon her Holy Grail. Eventually she would remember that her beloved string cheese was in the drawer, conveniently situated at her level. She would proudly pull one cheese out of the drawer, carefully push the drawer back in it's original position, and close the door. Then, she would search our house high and low for me so I may open the package for her consumption.

One night, when my husband was home to watch this whole experience, things got emotional for me. Samantha asked me for her prized "tees" and I told her that she may go grab one. Expecting to see her stumble her way back to the living room where I was sitting so I can open it for her, I waited. She didn't come back. I called for her, "Samantha... where are you?" "Eating my tees, mommy". Puzzled, I got up and walked into the kitchen to find that not only did she open the refrigerator by herself, but she was able to open her string cheese (and even threw the wrapper away) on her own and was enjoying the fruits of her labor all by herself!

Proud of our little girl's independence, my husband praised her. I fell into a puddle of tears. Chuckling at the sight, my husband asked why I was crying. (sob) "Because she doesn't need me anymore!" I was uncontrollable. His chuckle fell into out and out laughter. "What do you mean, honey? She's barely a year old! Of course she needs you." (intense sobbing, now) "No she doesn't! She can feed herself all on her own now!"

Now, don't think that I actually believed that my 13 month old child was ready to live on her own at this point. I knew better than that. I was just expecting her independence to wait a few years before it presented itself. Samantha was too impatient for that. I was quite happy with being the go-to person in her world for life-sustaining things like food, and shelter. Apparently, she wasn't. She had been ready to move on and kick-start her independence as soon as she was able to figure out how to work that door, that drawer, and that string-cheese packaging.

Now, fast-forward three more years. It's Samantha's first year of being able to participate in Vacation Bible School. Normally, she's pretty shy when she is put in a loud, crazy, chaotic setting. She'll cling to me and keep me close as her safety net. I loved this position in my life. I was able to experience her world up close and personal. It would normally take about an hour for her to get settled in and start enjoying the pandemonium on her own. I walked her into the main room where all the children meet for VBS this morning, and I could feel her grip on my hand tighten with each step that brought us closer to the noise. We searched for her group so she could meet her teacher and classmates and found out that we know her teacher this year. I quietly let out a sigh of relief. Maybe this would help her ease into this crazy scene. I bent down to be on her level and asked her how she was doing. With a nonchalant look on her face, and a girlish flip of her hair off of her shoulders, she said, "You can go now, mommy."

WHAT? No! You're not supposed to be THIS okay with my leaving you in such entropy. You're supposed to ask me if I can sit to the side, or even right next to you, so I can show you that you're about to have the time of your life. You're supposed to at least hesitate before you brush me off so you can meet new people, learn new things, and run around like a child! You're supposed to look over to the sidelines at me to make sure that your safety net is nearby. You're not supposed to grow up this fast! I fought the urge to ask my friend if I would be a distraction if I sat next to her. As I placed myself in the chairs next to the multitudes of children, I watched her. She was clapping and dancing to the music. She was quiet when somebody was speaking, and yelling when they told her to. She folded her hands in prayer when it was time to talk to God, and she got in line as soon as her group was called upon to go to the next station. She never once looked over at me for her cues. What made the tears fall quietly down my cheek was when she looked up at her teacher's helper and smiled... then she grabbed her hand and calmly held it.

Gone are the days of mommy being the only teacher. No longer will I be the only authoritative influence in her life (until daddy gets home from his travels, of course). Other people are now in her world, and she's okay with that. I, on the other hand, found myself feeling a little jealous. With my tail between my legs, I walked outside to the car and finished my sobs. I know that I should be proud of how well she adjusted. It only means that she is, in fact, ready to go to school this fall. But it made me realize that each day that passes, is one more day towards that complete independence that my husband and I are diligently working her towards. And that is bittersweet. I have experienced another "cheese stick" incident, abruptly realizing that while I'm happy with where Samantha and I are in our relationship, she isn't. I'd like to think I handled this one better than the last, and that I will handle the next one even better. I guess only time will tell...