Ginger Chicken Soup

During and after college, I often made chicken packets. Chicken was cheap and it just took a few inexpensive ingredients to create a tasty meal. By the time my mid/late twenties hit, I chickened out. No more chicken! Interestingly enough, I found comfort in my arch nemesis, the turkey.

Recently, I've been craving chicken (no mom, I am not pregnant). I remembered how much I used to enjoy chicken packets and decided to create a more grown-up version.

My husband was so excited that chicken was allowed back into the house. He went on and on about he used to watch his mom chop the head off of chickens and pluck the feathers from their goose-fleshy body. Amazingly enough, I still wanted to eat chicken!

I apologize about the formating of the recipe. Blogger is having issues, apparently.

Ginger Chicken Soup

2 chicken breast halves, bone in and skin on

2 inch piece of ginger, peeled and thinly sliced

6 green onions, thinly sliced.

2 bird's eye chili, thinly sliced

1 cup snow peas, sliced

Juice of half a lemon

1 tbs soy sauce

1 tsp sugar

Cilantro, for garnish

Rice noodles, cooked according to instructions

1. Fill a large pot with 4 cups water and bring to a boil. Add the chicken and boil for 10 minutes. Remove the chicken from the water and let cool. Remove the skin from the meat and the breast from the bone. Add the skin and bones to the pot of water and simmer until reduced by half. Remove from heat. After 10 minutes, skim off the fat.

2. Set the chicken breast on a large piece of heavy-duty foil. Slice the breasts into four or five pieces.

3. In a bowl, mix the lemon juice, soy sauce, and sugar until the sugar is dissolved. Spread the ginger and half the green onion and chili slices between the chicken pieces. Pour the sauce on top.

4. Gather the sides together and fold over to form a tightly wrapped packet. BBQ over indirect heat (325 F) for 20 minutes, gently flipping every five minutes.

5. While the chicken cooks, prepare the rice noodles. When still a bit al dente, remove from water, drain, and run cold water over them to prevent sticking.

6. Heat the stock and add the nam pla, snow peas, and the remaining green onion and chili slices. Simmer for three minutes.

7. Divide the noodles into two bowls and add the broth. Unwrap the chicken and divide the meat and juices between the bowls and serve. Garnish with cilantro.

Pho Gah! - Another Installment of "What Not to Cook"

When my husband and I first met six years ago, he was eating pho up to five times a week. Our third date was to his favorite pho restaurant. While I avoided the the tendon and tripe version, I didn't shy away from much else. I loved it!

Once we had been dating for awhile, he let me in on a secret. It hadn't been a date...It was a test. If I didn't appreciate his favorite food, I was wrong for him. A willingness to eat pho, he said, showed a sense of adventure and a general acceptance of things that are "different".

A willingness to make pho, on the other had, shows that you've got a case of the crazies.

Not adventurous enough to boil ox tail and beef marrow, I took a short cut and used a pho base. It's basically large tea bag thingies that contain all of the broth flavoring: animal parts, cardamom, clove, sugar, etc.

I figured that taking this shortcut still required a lot of other work, so I set forth charring onion and ginger to add to the simmering base. With no directions on the back other than a picture of the tea bag going into a pot of water, I decided to let it simmer for 40 minutes. When it was done, we tossed in some leftover shredded chicken. The smell was to die for. I felt like I was at my favorite pho joint, minus the Buddha shrine and the little old man serving the statue coffee, tea, and cigarettes.

I soaked some rice noodles in cold water before putting them in the bottom of two bowls. Broth was spooned over it. Soon, we were drooling as we loaded our bowls up with the usual: mung bean sprouts, Thai basil, that long thing related to cilantro, jalapenos, Siracha, Hoisen sauce, red chili sauce, and a smoky chili paste.

With success on my mind, I dug in. The first bite? Disgusting. The second? Worse. It had barely passed my lips before being spit into the garbage can. This pho seriously tested my "two taste minimum" policy.

I'm pretty sure that this would have come out better had I done it the long way, but still don't think I'd have a hit. Frankly, for $4.99 a bowl at the corner pho shop, trying to make it at home is not worth my time or money.

Support your local pho restaurant!