It’s meant to be flexible and unfussy. Sometimes I brown some beef, sometimes I pour in a little beer. Lately I’ve been adding a can of pumpkin and loving it.

Tonight’s unscripted chili was a collaborative effort, pulled together by loved ones who unknowingly donated to this gigantic pot of food on my stove. Blame it on New York rent prices, blame it on the shitty economy, blame it on the fact that I have an English degree and made the silly decision to work at a non-profit and, you know, help people — no matter how you look at it, at best, cash is tight right now, and there’s nothing like a big bowl of chili to nourish me from the inside out.

My “recipe”:

-Peppers, tomatoes, and beer from a friend who took pity on my desolate fridge, the interior of which could be used as a stunt double in Ghostbusters.

-Cannellini beans from my sister.

-Hot sauce, a gift from my last birthday. I used half the bottle.

-An onion and garlic I borrowed from the Roommate. When you’re roommates, it’s borrowing.

-Canned pumpkin, purchased by the Roommate after Trader Joe’s inexplicably didn’t have any. (Way to let me down, TJ’s. I’ll just take my very cheap wine and be on my way, thankyouverymuch.)

-Packets of Sazon seasoning that originally belonged to an ex-boyfriend. I’m not sure how they ended up in my kitchen. Consider it alimony.

-A can of tomato sauce I stole from my mother the last time I was upstate. When I ‘fessed up, she said, in typical Mom fashion, “Oh, honey, I’m happy you took it! I was thinking that we had too much tomato sauce in the pantry anyway.”

Directions: while wearing yoga pants and an old sweatshirt, mix all ingredients together on stove top until they resemble chili. Serve over an old potato you found in the street. Recession, what now?

******

Footnote: I clearly need professional aid when decanting chili in freezer-friendly Tupperware containers, because the mess I made makes it look like I just murdered a Chihuahua. Which I would never do, because I am a dog-lover. Even of those stupid small ones. Mostly.

Upon pulling the two chicken breasts out of my fridge today I was dismayed to find they still had their skin on. A surprise twist like this is usually the point in the cooking process where I whine to the Boyfriend and he comes to rescue me from animal flesh or fires I’ve set or milk I’ve spilled or any other culinary catastrophe I am experiencing.

But he was in the middle of a much-needed nap, so I manned up and did it myself.

Barely.   

With fork and knife and lots of “ew ew ew”-ing, I ripped the skin from the chicken, threw the breasts haphazardly into the pot, doused them with 1/2 cup of the marinade, and jumped around the kitchen frantically until the heebie jeebies passed. The feeling overcame me again when I had to wash the skin-y cutting board, a task I performed using lots of scalding water and half a bottle of Dawn. To stave off future panic attacks, I also bleached the counters and microwaved our kitchen sponge to within an inch of its life.

In short I’m not sure the hype about the Crock-pot’s “ease” is believable. It was a pretty tense and panic-stricken morning for me, I’ll tell you that.

[courtesy of gocomics.com]

Six short hours later, as my kitchen filled with a sweet hickory aroma, I slipped off the top of the Crock-pot to find tender — and FULLY COOKED — chicken meat falling right off the bone, no assistance needed from me.

I didn’t even call the Boyfriend in for Animal Flesh Control.

We ate it with baked potatoes (no bones in those!), which cooked while we took Jack on a snowy walk around neighborhood.

This is one hearty dinner for a snowy day. And unless you are me, stress-free as well.

In short, I am a total slob.

Nothing some Shout and a refill can’t fix. As I stood over the washing machine this evening, liberally applying stain remover to the legs of my pants, I thought back to one of my favorite stories from college. During a particularly messy home-cooked meal in our campus apartment, I reached in vain for some napkins or paper towels. Turning to my roommate I said, “You know what’s great about sweatpants? They are also a napkin,” and abandoned my search in favor of the option sitting right in my lap. You can call me messy, but I prefer to say I’m environmentally conscientious. My roommate nodded her approval through a mouthful of food. We girls were just that classy. We still are.

In other news, I cooked approximately 12 cups of barley tonight in preparation for stuffed squash I’m making us for dinner tomorrow.

Barley is so amazing. It makes me want to be a better human being.

There were lots of fun decorations. And sombreros.

Jack zoomed around the backyard and investigated every bug and old baseball.

The Boyfriend played soccer with my little cousin.

My mother dropped the plate of hamburgers and hot dogs as they were about to go on the grill. We dusted them off and ate them anyway.

We had chicken and pasta salad and grilled CSA veggies and cake and white sangria.

Many fabulous presents were opened.

It was loud and and crazy and everybody ate too much.

It was perfect.

Thanks, family!

Anyway, renowned chef Dale Miller, owner of an Albany restaurant by the same name, did a cooking demonstration for us GenNEXTers followed by some shmoozin’ and boozin’ (my term, not theirs).

Yours truly is on antibiotics for a sinus infection so I skipped the booze part of the evening and made some new friends instead. While the conversation was great, the highlight was Dale Miller’s demonstration. It wasn’t anyway mind-blowing; he prepared a simple salmon filet with a miso glaze. But I love watching people cook, food nerd that I am, and he was a quiet yet funny guy. He reminds me a lot of one of my best friends fathers: short, sweet, and wonderfully corny.

The glaze was simple: sake, oil, sugar, miso paste, all simmered together in a pot. We sampled small portions. It was delicious. I’m a little biased though, because I love salmon but never have it unless the Boyfriend cooks it.

I was most surprised to learn that miso applies to our fifth taste. You know the four: sweet, salty, bitter, and sour. Apparently scientists have recently identified a new taste: umami. It could also be called “savoriness.” I’m clearly not a reliable source on the matter, so follow the link for some better information for you. From Wikipedia. Of course.

The following appeal to our umami tastes: miso, mushrooms, ketchup, and cured pork. Go figure.

After the demonstration and before bidding us adieu, Chef Miller left us with one more corny tale. While he was visiting Japan, the tour guide reminded them how important it is to chill out every once in a while and “lerax.” “So tonight, don’t forget to chirr out and lerax,” he instructed us.

Fair enough. Between umami and lerax-ing, tonight was just about the craziest Wednesday night I’ve had in a while. If you’re in the Albany area, check out Dale Miller or the soon-to-be-reopened Sperry’s in Saratoga.

Like Chef Miller, I’m keeping this post short and sweet because it’s sweltering in our office. The Boyfriend insists he did NOT break the ceiling fan when he crashed into it during a victory jump over the U.S. win during the World Cup preliminaries today. But I know better.

Toppings: CSA scallions, tomatoes, tempeh, cheese, broccoli, mushrooms.

Trust me: fresh is BETTER.

I also fixed myself a mug of green tea to soothe a sore throat.

Celestial Seasonings has this to say about recycling:

Interesting point. I certainly feel a little better, considering we consume about 1,000 tea bags a week in this apartment.
Speaking of consuming vast quantities, I’ve had about eleven of these today.

Maybe only three, but they are addicting. Key lime bars, oh, yes indeed. These are from last night, as well, and they shan’t last long!!
Aside from pondering the negative effects of tea-drinking on the environment, the rest of my riveting night will be spent doing a bit o’ laundry, paperwork, and blogging.

With Sid.
Don’t you always sleep better knowing tasks have been crossed off the to-do list? That’s what I’m aiming for so I can get a solid night’s sleep.
Sid, who has been “helping” me write this post by attacking my fingers with each stroke of the keys, wishes you all a good night.

And he would like to remind you that three-hole punches make excellent pillows.

Rewind to Friday and I had a gala for work. Yes, that’s right, my new job entails galas. Well, maybe just the one. I had a blast and did to a lot of schmoozing and networking (and a little dancing!). Plus we raised money for a great organization. Win, win.

Tonight we went out to dinner at Applebees with a gift card my co-workers gave me when I left the Y.

Date night!

I had sizzlin’ fajitas, which were standard restaurant quality. It was the white peach sangria that was the highlight of my meal. Yum!

As we were driving home we passed UAlbany’s campus and caught sight of a fireworks show.

Fireworks from the car.

The Boyfriend did a superb job arranging fireworks for the finale of our date.

We came home and made brownies for sundaes. With butterscotch and hot fudge. And sprinkles. Because they make everything better.

More fun tomorrow!

I could not decide what I wanted to eat. Pasta sounded tasty and we certainly have a lot of it, but the hot weather made me wary of a belly full of spaghetti. A salad was the perfect choice, minus the lack of lettuce in my fridge. Kath’s soba noodle dinner of a few days ago stuck out in my mind and I headed to the market for supplies (plus a few random groceries).

Greens ‘N Things

From left:

• Stonyfield yogurts (my beloved Chobani is no longer on sale for 99 cents and I’d have to start selling my belongings to pay the normal price.)
• Plain yogurt
• Soy milk (for green monsters!)
• Spinach
• Spring greens
• Broccoli
• Brussels sprouts
• Bok choy
• Frozen edamame (I picked up the last two items at the Asian market. Bok choy was half the price compared to the supermarket — woohoo!)

I started the meal by chopping bok choy, mushrooms, and broccoli, and cooking linguine. Buckwheat noodles or whole wheat spaghetti would have been heartier, but we have white flour pasta and I’m not made of gold (see “can’t afford Chobani”).   

For dressing I whipped up some of my favorite peanut sauce.

I originally couldn’t remember where I had found this awesome recipe but I knew I had written about it on the blog. Quick search of my old posts lead me to this post. Thanks, blog!

After the pasta cooked I let it cool and steamed the vegetables.

Assemble and enjoy!

The meal could have used more sauce in my opinion. But I also just tried to lick a freckle off my arm because it appeared to be peanut sauce. So perhaps I’m biased.

Otis Redding came on the radio while I was cooking — perfect music for a warm and sticky evening. I will leave you with this: