I served this little collection of store-bought taste thrills, for our Ruhi Class, thinking they might go nicely with a bit of tea, and having no time to bake something special. I filled a cookie jar full of the goodies, and every time I look at it, I see the contents of the jar getting smaller and smaller, due to little mice with names...like Rahmat and his imaginary friends, all of whom have a sweet-tooth. Cookie jars just don't stay full.I made biscotti yesterday, after I saw how easy it was to prepare it - it does require two separate bakings, one to bake and the other to toast.
Both these biscuits have the same recipe - flour, butter, salt and baking powder, almonds, and finely chopped Mandarin orange peelings that I save from every orange that we eat. I've learned that many recipes require an 'orange zest', which is best rendered from peelings and juice. Speaking of odd trivialities, I made a Moroccan chicken dish Sunday night which looked so ghastly that I refused to photograph it. It was the most awlful-looking purple-brown, with little black dots of seasonings, garlic and floating leaves.
I started with a recipe shown on that program by Keith Floyd on the Travel Channel; he brought out the chicken, the anise and tarragon, the cumin, tomato sauce, tons of garlic. As the chicken browned, this traveling gourmet threw in all these marvelous spices - I could almost smell them as he talked about the relationship of anise and tarragon, and how they must always be together, as they bring out the flavor of the other, just like a good marriage! Well, I threw in the spices to my chicken, just as he indicated, and added the freshly ground COFFEE (he said, 'trust me, this is an essential ingredient, just one tablespoon).
Well, I tasted this rich dark brine, and it seemed a little flat (at least not what I'd hoped for), so I added a dried hot red pepper, a little Hershey's baking chocolate and some of my candied Mandarin orange rinds, to add a zing and a little more flavor (chocolate? why not!). Oh, the ghastly color, like a farmers pasture, and all that minced garlic and cilantro floating around. I was beginning to get heart palpitations! I fried up some sliced polenta, and added it to the sauce in the pan.
Thank goodness my pantry offers an enticement of options for rescue...
I sliced up a few rings of red onion and set them aside (to stay crisp on top), and added some prunes and dried apricots. Then, I stirred the pot, mixing anise, tarragon, cumin, chocolate, coffee, garlic and onion, cilantro, a smidgeon on honey, and.....the chicken. When the Moroccan Chicken finished cooking, I thought "This is something I have absolutely no inclination to eat! However, it smelled HEAVENLY! Rahmat said, "When is that going to be DONE?" (I thought, God what are they going to think when they see this *****! )Well, I called George down from his study, he said, "It smells fantastic", and he showed me how his saliva was starting to drool out of the corners of his mouth. He got dramatic, and let it drop onto the floor - yes, he can exaggerate hunger pangs. I told him to wipe up the floor and get a plate. I said, "You are not going to like the sauce, but the chicken is fantastic, tender and stunningly flavorful. It has an unusual addiction. (Heh, use coffee or chocolate and they will ask for seconds, I thought.) Rahmat rushed into the kitchen, and both he and his dad piled the goop onto their plates and went into the study.
For the longest time - like an eternity - there was no sound, just the news-broadcaster talking about the violence in Kenya, the clashes that have left hundreds of Kenyans dead in the past two weeks, where barricades prevent the local workers from accessing their jobs picking tea leaves. No comments from the guys. I couldn't believe I did this to them! If I wouldn't eat it, why did I expect them to? I feebly asked George how it was. He barely lifted his eyes from the plate to answer, nibbling on the chicken bone.
I felt a little guilty, "You don't have to eat all that sauce, just spread a little of it over the polenta. It will give it some flavor..." He looked up, shook his head and slumped forward, saying "This is the BEST meal you've EVER cooked!" Rahmat gave it a second!
Goes to show you, when guys are hungry, they'll say anything. I don't care if it was good. The trauma of trying to figure out how to salvage this meal is the only thing I remember - and I'll never cook it again! Who wants to be reminded of a cow pasture.
