Archive | May, 2011

Friday Night Comfort Food: Chicken Pot Pie

28 May

In the infamous words of the lovely Chef Carla Hall, “I’ve been thinking about chicken pot pie all week!”

I can’t tell you the last time I had chicken pot pie, and no, I’ve never made one before yesterday. But soon after Chef Hall whipped up a might tasty looking one on Top Chef, I saw Alton Brown make his version on an episode of Good Eats. Ever since, it’s been calling to me like a siren. Juicy chicken and savory vegetables in a creamy, rich gravy tucked away beneath a buttery crispy crust. Yes, please.

There are things about traditional pot pie of which I’m not a big fan. As much as I love chicken and potatoes together, I think there’s enough starch in the crust and gravy to suffice. Secondly, I cannot stand cooked peas. Maybe lightly steamed and shocked in ice water, but otherwise, no thank you ma’am. What I needed was a different green vegetable for both color and deliciousness, some earthiness, and something special to kick up that gravy. No sad, gray gravy here.

Let’s begin! Here’s what you’ll need

Filling

  • 1.25 lb. chicken breast, diced
  • 1 cup chicken stock
  • 1/2 cup milk
  • 1 zucchini, diced
  • 2 carrots, diced
  • 5-6 cremini mushrooms, chopped
  • 1 medium white onion, diced
  • 2 cloves garlic, diced
  • 3 tbsp. dry sherry
  • 3 tbsp. flour
  • 2 tbsp. butter, unsalted
  • 2-3 sprigs fresh thyme
  • 1 sprig parsley, chopped
  • Red pepper flakes, salt and black pepper to taste
  • Olive oil
  • Juice of half a lemon
  • Salt and pepper to taste

Crust

  • 1 1/4 cup flour
  • 1/2 tbsp. sugar
  • 1/2 tsp. salt
  • 4 oz. unsalted butter, cut into cubes
  • 2-3 tbsp. ice water
  • Egg wash (1 egg beaten with 1 tbsp. water)

First, prep the crust. I used a pretty basic pate brisee for this. Just combine the flour, salt and sugar in the bowl of a food processor, and then slowly add in the butter and process using short pulses. The resulting texture should be sandy.

Add 2 tbsp. of ice water and process just until the dough will hold together when pinched between your fingers. Add more water only if necessary and then roll the dough into a ball. Flatten the ball into a disc, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 1/2 hour. If you do this in advance, take the dough out of the refrigerator 20 minutes before rolling it out.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Toss the diced chicken with a little bit of olive oil and the lemon juice. Season with salt and pepper and then brown the pieces in a large pan.

In a separate pan, warm the milk and chicken stock together over low heat.

Add a small amount of oil to the same pan and sautee the onions, garlic, zucchini, carrots, and mushrooms just until they release their juices. Add the sherry and cook until most of the liquid has evaporated. Taste and season with salt and pepper to your liking.

Add the butter, allow it to melt and then mix in the 3 tbsp. of flour. Slowly whisk in the milk/chicken stock mixture and then add the parsley, thyme, and red pepper flakes. Cook until the mixture reduces and thickens. Remove from the heat and stir in the chicken.

Pour the filling into a shallow baking dish. This 2 quart oval casserole dish was just the right size. A deep dish pie pan or 8 x 8 in. baking dish would probably work as well.

Roll out the pie dough to the shape of your cooking vessel, only slightly larger so that there is some overhang. Cover the filling and crimp the crust along the edges of the baking dish to secure. Cut some vents in the crust to let out steam, and then brush it with the egg wash.

Bake the pot pie for 30-35 minutes or until the filling is bubbling and the crust is golden brown

Allow it to cool for 10-15 minutes before digging in. Eat and be comforted.

Hope you all have a great Memorial Day weekend!

Ciao for now,

Neen

Without Explanation

10 May

I have been writing since my stubby hands figured out how to form words out of letters. Because of this, nearly my entire life is documented in worn notebooks stuffed into a series of plastic Rubbermaid containers (in both Pittsburgh and Arlington). Sometimes this is very uncomfortable. I look back on things I wrote and remember quite vividly what life was like at that exact moment.

…Writing under the dogwood tree outside of Sacred Heart, wishing I could reach one of the flowers during spring-time. I always hoped that one would fall still intact, and that I could press it inside of my notebook…

…Writing on the ledge above the parking lot at Central Catholic, half-watching lacrosse practice. Looking for a specific smile among the team and feeling warm when it was found…

…Writing at the picnic table next to the snack bar at the Forest Hills pool. A water-stained notebook scrawled with synchronized swimming choreography between poems and letters to friends that would never be sent…

…Writing at my desk in school, hoping that the teachers would think I was just taking notes. Wondering what would happen if I was ever caught, and feeling sheepish the only time it ever happened (in eighth grade)…

…Writing to friends and other loves trying to explain things that I simply didn’t know how to verbalize audibly…

…Writing outside of the theater at Northeastern during callback auditions, staying just distracted enough to keep anxiety at bay. Waiting to see my friends walk out from their own attempts and hoping to see them smile…

Always in pen, never in pencil. Almost always in script, but sometimes lazily dawdling into half-script / half-print when my wrist cramped. Entirely left-handed, save for some messy right-handed attempts when I had surgery on my left shoulder.

More a compulsion than anything else, I am to this day almost never without a notebook. Most bags that I choose are based on how well journal-sized notebooks will fit inside of them. It is the one thing I have always done, and what I cannot imagine ever quitting. It precedes even my love of cooking.

And I know exactly where it began. I used to sneak into my brother’s room to “borrow” books from the shelf (his fault for keeping them low enough for me to reach!) just to get at one or two very specific titles. I fell in love with my first writer there and never let go.

When I read his words, the overwhelming theme of living life on one’s own terms and without the need for explanation struck my soul. It was as though the world lit up and suddenly I had purpose. He did not limit himself to genre, nor yield to conventional formulas. Instead he lived with imagination, constantly exploring the universe before him. He was the essence of free-spiritedness.

There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of his words in one context or another. His chuckling, gravelly voice sings through my headphones, or I remember that “anything can happen, anything can be.”

I wish I could thank him for everything he has been: An inspiration, a companion, and a constant reminder that there are no limits to the fantastic. He is the friend I never knew, and yet I will always be grateful for having a part of him in my life.

He will always be the light in my attic.

Thank you, Shel.

Remembering Shel Silverstein, September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999.