Chicken Cacciatore

So I was sitting on the couch the other day, watching TV, when I started thinking about chicken. Despite how odd that might seem to some of you, me thinking about chicken is actually a quite common occurrence. Standing in the shower, scrubbing away the sleep, I think of chicken. Looking out the window at the spring rains as they bring life back to the soil, I think of chicken. Gently holding hands with Courtney... She asks quietly, looking soulfully in my eyes, "What are you thinking about?" I return her delicate, meaningful gaze and reply, with all the seriousness in my heart, "Chicken."

But I digress. It occurred to me that, in my entire adult life, I have never attempted to make chicken cacciatore. I remembered my mother making it, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it tasted like. I knew it was red and smelled tomatoey, but I really couldn't remember the flavor. So, after a little websurfing for recipes and a quick visit to the Key Food across the street, I was ready to take a whack at it.

I managed to pick up two things about chicken cacciatore while rooting around online. First, it involves flour-crusted chicken braised in a tomato sauce. Second, what goes into the sauce is pretty much anyone's guess. The options were wide and varied - just the way I liked it.

Now, like all things that are good and beautiful in this world, my cacciatore started with bacon.


I'm not going to explain or defend my choice. It's bacon, people. C'mon now.

While I was letting the bacon crisp up and render out, I set about disassembling my vegetables.


Mushrooms were on sale, in case you couldn't tell. There's something relaxing about cutting apart veggies in preparation for cooking; getting the peppers, onion, and garlic into a small dice seemed to take no time at all. The shrooms were stemmed and sliced thin.

Now, the greatest thing about starting with half a pound of bacon is the bacon fat.


Mmm. Bacon fat. The second greatest cooking medium in creation. What do I use it for? Well... I could use it to brown these chicken thighs that've been dredged in flour.


Or I could use it to brown up these here mushrooms.


And when I'm done with the mushrooms, there's still plenty left to sweat out these vegetables.


Mmm. Now, while the veggies were softening up (with a liberal application of crushed red pepper, dried oregano, and dried basil), it was time to assemble the liquids that were going to make up the rest of our sauce.


By this point, the smell of the red wine reducing was enough to get me salivating. If it's one thing I love, it's an apartment that smells like food. Once the wine was reduced by half (or so, I never actually measure), it was time to dump in the tomatoes and stock... and my secret weapon.


Mmm. Capers. I happen to know for a fact that two people very dear to me aren't fond of them, but I can't resist. They're all briney and vinegary and little explosions of flavor in everything you put them in. I didn't even bother draining them; I just dropped the brine into the sauce with the rest of it. By now, the sauce was looking pretty hearty.


It was time for the final push. I stirred in the bacon, wedged the chicken thighs in there, put on the lid and set the pot to simmer for 30 of the longest minutes of my life.

In the meantime, I had to fix myself up something to put the chicken on. The answer, of course, was spaghetti. Because I have a lot of it lying around.


After tossing it with parsley and (say it with me now, folks) bacon fat, everything was ready to serve. And serve it I did.


Complete with a fistful of romano on top. That, my friends, is not bad for my first try.

Baked Ziti

Growing up, baked ziti was one of the recipes that my brothers and I picked up pretty quickly. The principle was simple - a jar of tomato sauce, some meat, whatever veggies are on hand, some ricotta mixed in. Mix it all up with a pound of ziti, pour it out into a baking dish, and top with mozzarella. Throw it into the oven and bake until the cheese melts and the pasta gets all bubbly. Mmm.


Of course, the important part of baked ziti is waiting for a few minutes to let the pasta cool down and set. Traditionally, I have a history of being the guy that just crams hot food into my mouth with no regard for temperature, but this was enough to dissuade me:


I've always had a soft spot in my heart for baked pasta dishes. They were the stuff of family dinners growing up; just thinking about it conjures up memories of everyone shuffling into the kitchen, grabbing a bowlful of the stuff and sitting down to eat, chattering and laughing as we ate. So it was only appropriate this weekend, hanging out with Kuya and Angela, Paul and Andy and Tatay, all of us sitting around the kitchen table, laughing and goofing off with big ol' bowls of ziti.


You see that? That's what a bowl of family looks like.

Cheers, guys. Until next time.

Spaghetti Bolognese

It was a quiet Sunday, one of those Sundays that you just wake up whenever and stumble out of your room. I was hung over, or not, and I waddled out into the living room. Perry, my stalwart roommate, bade me good waking with the following question:

"Hey, if I get you ingredients, will you make Bolognese?"

"Uh... yeah."

"Cool."

True to his word, he got me the ingredients.


Mmm. Meatloaf mix, that wonderful combination of beef, pork, and veal. Onions and garlic, the only vegetables necessary. Fresh parsley. Looks good enough to eat. But what should I cook it in?


Oooooooooh. This big pan with butter! Of course. Browning meat in butter's the obvious choice.

The process isn't really all that exciting. You add things to the pan, one by one. The meat, then the chopped veggies. The tomato sauce. A little broth to thin it out, a little cream to tighten it up, and some fresh parsley and Parmesan to add a sharp, bright zing to it, and you've got yourself a big ol' bowl of happy.


I tell you, if you've never had a tomato sauce with a touch of cream, you're missing out. Something about that milky mouth feel spreads all over your mouth and numbs out the acidity of the tomatoes. The delicate, crumbly texture of the meat goes great with the pasta, though I probably would have preferred something that hung on to the meat bits a little better. Perhaps rotini, or shells.

Regardless, one of the most basic things you can cook yourself for dinner is a good pasta and sauce combination. Once you get the technique down, your options are damn near limitless. So go on, play with your food.