Now you and I know that there might not actually have been something called Basil-Bacon Salsa, but there is now. It could be mis-named, but it seems to work for gilding the lily of this tender, crisp, juicy simple grilled chicken. I occasionally do a sort of Italian salsa (generally called Raw Tomato Sauce) with just tomatoes, basil, and garlic or onion for a quick topping of meat, grilled bread, or pasta; this time I had bacon cooked and thought, “Why not?” Chicken and bacon are certainly compatible–and now “Basil-Bacon Salsa” is a thing around here.
Watch for upcoming kids’ recipes!
Earlier in the spring, my Facebook friend, cooking student, and More Time supporter/follower Emily Nolan and I talked a little about a summertime cooking class for her daughter Addie (below), who’s a girl very interested in food, nutrition, caring hospitality, and the cooking process itself.
In fact, Addie had attended one of my Healthy Living Cooking Classes at First Congregational Church, Colorado Springs, last year–something I hadn’t remembered! (By the way: Emily’s a an Online Health and Fitness Coach should you need one– pic below.)
I grew up eating fried chicken. My dad may have made the best fried chicken I’ve ever eaten. Perhaps it wasn’t the best fried chicken on earth, but it’s best I’ve ever had and it was made in the largest, deepest cast iron skillet in the kitchen. (Someone in my family must have that pan?) So you know how we strain fat and refrigerate it (if we deep fry very often, which I don’t) for safety reasons? That never happened at my house. That fat went back into a (then) metal Crisco can and into the cupboard. Don’t try this now; Crisco cans are made of cardboard. Even bacon fat sat out. Mayonnaise, too. No joke. I don’t think we were ever ill either. Witness what Dave calls Alyce’s cast-iron stomach.
It’s one of the biggest challenges and conundrums of my cooking, blogging, writing, and teaching life. Folks are so very interested in food, love to chat about it, are crazy about eating, and seem to know lots about ingredients and technique (Food Network and “Top Chef”, I guess). But somehow they often have an awesome amount of trouble getting into the kitchen and actually cooking. There are myriad reasons and I needn’t name them.
I think of fajitas as a summer meal. It’s a hot night on the deck. There are margaritas along with chips and guac to start. Icy cold Dos Equis to go with the meal and just made cinnamon ice cream to finish.
Steak and chicken could both make an appearance and I’d probably even twist Dave’s arm to grill all of the vegetables and heat the tortillas. What’s a husband for?
Trying to figure out what to name the dishes I dream up is not always easy. Many times the right recipe title does just pops up. Because, in my book, t should say what it is. Not be misleading or uninformative. (If you say, “Mother Morgan’s Favorite Dinner,” what does that mean? Steak and Garlic Green Beans on Mushroom Rice, however, says exactly what it is.) Other times, I’m lost. Nothing sounds right. I mull. I ponder. Here’s an example: Continue reading
While the old deck disappears and the new one is added, our summer dinner spot is gone. This seems to be a theme in our lives lately. (Change is in the air.) Outdoor tables and chairs are stored in the garage; patio candles sit awkwardly in a living room corner. Cushions and pillows are propped up next to the piano or rest at odd angles under sofa tables in the family room. We have cabin fever this year in the summer because from May – September, we do not eat indoors unless there’s a horrific storm or we’re in a restaurant. Our life, from 5:00 on — when sun is on the western side of our house — is outdoors. But not, sadly, for two weeks. Continue reading