Or Day 1 of the actual cooking, depending on how you’re slicing it; Day 1 basically consisted of obtaining said rotisserie chicken and, you know, eating some of it.
But now we’re getting down to business.
A Hat Tip goes out to Kitchenette pals the Sunday Sommeliers who took this allrecipies.com recipe out for a spin a week or so ago. The combo of spicy and sweet really drew me in, though I really took their warnings to heart — which resulted in doing quite a bit of tweaking to the original instructions.
First, the warning to those being short on burners and pans — this is a small kitchen blog. These are things I take seriously. Also, if I can alleviate Future Mr. Kitchenette’s dish-washing burden, all the better. So the quesadillas — which would have required an additional pan a tons more counter top to assemble — became burritos (also, burritos make FMr.K happy, generally speaking). Second, the SS’s noted that even when cut in half, there was a ton. of. food. Also a pet peeve here at The Kitchenette, so for this version, I tried to gear it more toward two people. Two hungry people, but just two. Finally, I kept a serious eye on those beans!
All Recipes offers the option to recalculate the whole thing for the number of people you have, but when I tried it, the measurements for this particular recipe got so silly I decided to just tweak it as I saw fit. We ended up with two huge burritos (and a few tablespoons of leftovers), which think would also translate to four big tacos, if that’s what you’re into. Do as I say and not as I do: don’t overfill your tortillas or innards will fall out all over.
Also, and this change is probably pretty obvious, the Kitchenette version also involved actual chicken. But as you can see in the original recipe and the SS’s post, it is totally doable (and I’m sure quite delicious, as Mr.S is usually a meat-eater), with vegetarian-friendly “chicken” strips.
Black Bean-Mango-Chicken Burritos
Ingredients
Method
* Yes, I actually have something that measures “a pinch.” I reckon it’s about 1/8 teaspoon, but you should use these two (or just one) ingredients to add as much heat and smoke as you like.
And every night, in fact. For a few days anyway.
Even though I gave the Internets a chance to boss me around last week, not many people took me up on it and told me what to make for dinner in the wake of The Great Flood. There was one person who made a suggestion that got the wheels turning, though (yeah, it would be my mother, The Kitchenette Mom. Go fig.): grocery store rotisserie chicken.
You heard me.
I used to think of it as something reserved only for People Who Do Not Cook. But it’s also for The Busy, Those Contending With Disasters, People in the Middle of Moving and a wide assortment of others. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought about all the recipes in my arsenal that call for “xx cups of cooked chicken.” Why do I cook something only to have to to cook something again? Hmmm…
So a plan was hatched. A plan-cum-challenge, really. We have here, in The Kitchenette, two people, one rotisserie chicken and five days of the week. I’m going to try to make tasty dinners (and maybe even a couple lunches) with the pre-cooked chicken and some obvious and not-so-obvious ingredients on hand. We’ll see how long we can stretch it and how good a meal I can turn out basically using leftovers. Are you up for it?
Day 1 of the Chicken Challenge was just Boston Market rotisserie chicken and side dishes (damn, I love side dishes). Apparently, grocery stores around here only have chickens available at certain times and we missed the cut off. Repeatedly. But at least the basement is back to normal.
Stay tuned for more adventures in chicken…
For some reason, Boston Market dismembers your chicken for you when you order a whole one.
I’ve been hooked on magnetic timers for a while, starting with this little digital Ikea baby I think I got for a dollar or something.
It hung with me for a long time before giving up the ghost a couple of weeks ago. We’re talking years. Not bad for a buck.
And then along came this beauty.
Easy to use (as long as you follow the directions). And dig that retro styling — retro kitchens call for retro widgets and details! It ticks and rings like a real bell and everything, all without batteries. I went with green to bring out the lovely (asbestos?) tile floor, but it comes in a variety of colors from a couple different manufacturers.
I have even taken to carrying it around the house with me or sticking it on the fence or metal shed in the yard when I’m outside, as defense against my total lack of sense of time.
It’s metal and therefore a little on the heavy side as far as magnetic timers go, but the ultra-strong magnet keeps it in place on most surfaces. Rather than digging through a drawer when you need it or parking it on the counter even when you don’t really have the space, track yourself down a pretty magnetic timer and plaster to the front of the ‘fridge. As an added bonus, it holds up whatever recipe you’re using.
Just a quick note, Dear Readers, regarding the current state of chaos in The Kitchenette.
The power kicked off this morning at Casa de Kitchenette, which is, sadly, not a rare occurrence. There was the usual trekking down the dangerous basement stairs in the dark. But instead of hitting the cold basement floor with a smack, my bare foot hit about three inches of water with a sploosh instead.
The entire (full, finished) basement was full of water, no thanks to the pair of failed sump pumps that usually run pretty much constantly. After hours of consternation from the “management company,” our favorite plumber was able to get us back in business. More or less. There is still a lot of clean up to be done. We’re looking at some pretty substantial casualties and keep finding new puddles, so bear with us for the next couple of days. There’s probably not going to be a lot of cooking or a lot of posting.
In the mean time, I’m calling a Reader’s Choice: you say it, I saute it! What should we be cooking to a) make us feel better and b) that’s easy and virtually mess-free (as we are spending an inordinate amount of time cleaning up messes in the basement and are in no mood to extend that to the kitchen)?
So here we are, in that uncertain space between seasons. It only lasts a few weeks, but I am easily frustrated by it. The sunshine (it’s back!) makes me want to throw open the window and run around in a tee-shirt. But when the window is open, it’s a cool breeze that seeps in, tinged with the scent of earth and cold rain.
It’s in-between time for food, too. The sun and warmth and budding trees makes me long for fresh summer vegetables, but it’s only time for planting them, not eating them. And I’ll admit it, I’ve never been that into the first tastes of spring — you can keep your fiddlehead ferns and your ramps. To me, they always taste more bitter and wintery than springy and fresh.
Maybe that’s because when I was little, spring and Easter meant Lebanese food, not foraged weeds. When my family, immediate and extended, all lived in Cleveland, holiday hosting duty rotated among the homes of relatives, mostly on my mother’s Italian side. There was Wedding Soup on Christmas Eve at Mrs. Citino’s house (the mother of my uncle’s wife), a “side dish” of lasagna at my grandmother’s Thanksgiving table. But Easter was different. That was at my aunt and uncle’s house, and Uncle Eddie took the Lebanese half of his heritage very seriously — at least when it came to the food.
The Easter I remember best from my childhood featured an inordinate amount of lamb in all kinds of Lebanese preparations — lamb stew with preserved lemon and garlic, kibbeh balls fried to perfection, the more exotic kibbeh nayyah with little wells of olive oil, lamb kabobs grilled with pomegranate molasses and spices — plus plenty of lebneh and laban and tahini to slather on things at will. I ate so much kibbeh nayyah and bulgher, I gave myself a stomach ache. My uncle just laughed, happy to have a niece who gobbled up raw lamb without even blinking. read more…
So yeah, I was a little bit of a Blog Slacker last week. But I do have a totally viable excuse: Spring Cleaning.
All it took was a couple of days of sunshine two weekends ago and I was ready for sandals! the beach! grilling! and other assorted “I Am So F’ing Done With Winter” activities. Future Mr. Kitchenette even managed to get me to do some yard work (THAT, Dear Readers, is True Love). But what does yard work and a few hours of sunshine more than a week ago have to do with being such a Blog Slacker, you ask? I’m getting to it…
While I was raking the winter’s deposits of partially decomposing leaves out of beds of still-unidentified succulents, I was also formulating a plan. A Massive Spring Cleaning Plan. Five days in a week, five rooms in the house (not counting the Man Cave in the basement and the Porch Room) — coincidence? I think not!
Starting at the top, I worked my way downstairs, The Kitchenette itself being the smash finish of Spring Cleaning. More than just a cleaning up, it was also a cleaning out. By the time I got to the kitchen, there were two huge bags and one small box of items to be donated. The cleaning of the kitchen was a little different than the rest of the house, though.
Asian flavors are just not something I have ever been that into cooking. Sure, I like eating them. Out. Or at someone else’s house. Or anywhere I don’t have to buy and ultimately store 8 specialty ingredients I won’t use again for months. Hosin sauce is something of an exception.
It’s great on a variety of things, even when the dish is not necessarily Asian-themed, especially poultry (especially especially duck). It doesn’t tend to languish in The Kitchenette’s ‘fridge any longer than barbecue sauce or maple syrup. If you buy some specifically for this recipe, I highly recommend taking it for a spin in other dishes.
Alternatively, you could just make a boatload of this stuff. Heh.
Cast iron is always the kitchen gift that keeps on giving. Easy to clean, it only gets better as year after year of patina builds up. But in December, The Kitchenette was gifted with the best Christmas present ever, a cast iron Holy Grail: the compact cast iron grill/griddle combo.
It was a present from my brother, heretofore known as Kitchenette Bro (K.Bro?), who actually has his own cast iron grill/griddle but isn’t as thrilled with his as I am. When he bought his, he had all the space in the world (okay, not that much, but more than what I’m workin’ with), so he scored the two-burner version.
Learn from this mistake, Dear Readers. Size does matter. Sometimes.
This recipe got a mention a while ago and it’s high time I posted it, though it’s not without its caveats. Most of the cautions, however, are only with the name. See, I’ve never really known what to call this dish, even though I have been making it for years. One of my oldest and dearest friends is Persian and while she does not cook (at all!) her father is amazing in the kitchen so she knows good food when she tastes it. I’ve made this for her a couple of times over the years and she always says something to the effect of “this is kind of like something Persian,” or “this reminds me of when my dad makes chicken.” But never “Yay, Persian food!” So I hesitate to actually call it Persian Chicken.
Of the many nifty space-saving devices that came already installed in The Kitchenette, this one has mystified me since the day we moved in.
It’s mounted neatly on the side of a cabinet and has clear signs of use, including a large-but-taped-up crack and extensive scuff marks and speckles, like something has been rubbed into the plastic in some places. It’s open on top and all the way through the middle, which makes me think something should be dropped in the top and then come out those front slots.
But what?
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