Category: Entree

This is your chance to escape the news and use up some of those hoarded pantry staples, all in one fell swoop!  You know, the boxes upon bags of pasta, beans and such you were highly advised to amass in preparation for the corona virus quarantine? You might have long familiarity with them, or perhaps stockpiling food is a more recent experience. 

Mom always had a ready supply of such items in her pantry, because when living on a farm, one did not just stop into the market to pick up a needed item.  In fact, she designed a large pantry cupboard with pull out shelves long before cabinet companies offered them to make the pantry items more accessible.  Noodles were served more often than pasta; a pasta dinner usually meant something on the heavy side, like spaghetti or macaroni. The selection at our small town grocer’s was not vast; either long thin strands or elbows. Mom made spaghetti with meatballs. My grandmother made a dish with the elbows she called Johnny Marzetti, which I adored as a child.  In retrospect, it was a fresher, homemade version of Chef-Boyardee, baked ‘til browned and bubbly. Very child friendly. Once Mom returned to full-time employment, the health food standards relaxed a bit and the occasional box of mac with the envelope of neon orange cheese could be found on the shelf. (This probably occurred when my teenage self took on doing the family grocery shopping…) Melt yourself a lump of butter, toss with the shells, a pour of milk and that fluorescent orange powder and voila! Mac-n-cheese! I loved that stuff for more years than I want to admit. Pasta in that time was definitely boxed in by both tradition and  lack of imagination. 

As a young newlywed, my pasta world exploded with the arrival of my July 1981 issue of Bon Appetit magazine. While I remember next to nothing else from the subscription, this particular issue still sits on my shelf, because it featured an entire article on summer pasta sauces, developed to save the poor harassed and overheated cook from hours of stirring sauce in the swelter of a summer kitchen. These were easy, lighter recipes using fresh vegetables, olives, tinned tuna, fresh cheeses. Most of them didn’t require cooking! Well, yeah, you still had to cook the pasta, but this could be done in advance, because all of these recipes were basically served at room temperature.  Suddenly the boundaries were broken and the way I viewed pasta changed for evermore. 

Pasta has come a long way, baby. Today the shelf holds a multitude of shapes, gluten-free and gluten-full. While we do make it from scratch occasionally, I am fortunate that a local grocer carries the dry einkorn pasta that I find easily digestible.  I have come to depend on relatively quick pasta dishes, not just for summer, but year round. An amalgam of vegetables and nuts (sometimes with meat, sometimes not,) gets tossed around quickly with a glug of olive oil and condiments, then mixed with al dente pasta. A bit of the starchy pasta water brings the whole thing together, with some type of grated or crumbled cheese typically topping it off. The concept is ultra flexible and the combinations are endless.  Pasta with Prosciutto and Chevre is one such favorite. The sauce can be made quickly while the pasta is cooking. Fresh asparagus combined with creamy goat cheese and rich pistachios, seasoned with herbs de Provence and a zip of acidity from lemon. Prosciutto provides the crisp saltiness. 

Long about now, a quick and easy pasta recipe might be just what you need, both for the heat of summer and to make a bit of space on that well stocked pantry shelf… this one fits the bill on both counts!

Print Recipe

Pasta with Prosciutto and Chevre

Light, quick and easy summer pasta dish with asparagus, prosciutto and chevre.

Prep Time30 minutes mins

Cook Time15 minutes mins

Total Time45 minutes mins

Course: Entree

Cuisine: American

Keyword: pasta

Servings: 4 people

Ingredients

• 1 tbsp olive oil I use garlic infused olive oil
• 3 oz package sliced prosciutto
• 1 clove garlic, minced I omit this, for digestibility
• 2 green onions, chopped
• 1 bunch asparagus, trimmed and sliced into 1-inch pieces
• 1/2 cup parsley, chopped
• zest of 1 lemon
• 2 tbsp lemon juice
• 4 oz chevre/goat cheese crumbles
• 1/2 cup toasted pistachios, coarsely chopped
• broth, as needed
• 8 oz penne or spiral pasta
• 1 tsp herbs de Provence

Instructions

• Cook the pasta according to package directions. Drain the pasta, reserving ¼ cup starchy cooking water. 
• Heat the oil over medium high heat and sauté prosciutto slices till crisped. Remove to drain and then slice into ½-inch pieces. Add garlic, asparagus and green onion to the skillet and sauté till asparagus is crisp tender, adding broth as needed to prevent sticking. Stir in parsley, lemon zest, juice and herbs. Toss the vegetables, pasta, prosciutto, pistachios and reserved cooking water together. Top with goat cheese crumbles, and serve. 

   

We grew, raised and harvested beautiful produce, meats and poultry on the farm. While none of us could truly be considered a forager, my dad did enjoy hunting game birds. He relished the time spent with his brothers and his various hunting dogs, and our plates were occasionally graced with quail and pheasant. No one in any fairness though, could be called a fisherman. I vaguely remember one family reunion held at Kentucky Lake. After a long day spent on the lake bristling with poles, bait, and boasting, fish landed at the kitchen door, suspiciously cleaned and wrapped professionally in butcher paper…

The fact that we lacked fresh fish did not deter my mother in any way. Now, this was the sixties. I cannot imagine that anyone was prattling on about Omega-3s and the need to eat fish on a regular basis, yet somehow this belief was firmly fixed in my mother’s menu planning philosophy. (Along with liver on a weekly basis, which is another story.) Most of the time I consider my mom to be a fairly inspired cook for the era. Her preparation of fish was not one of those shining moments.

Neither was the frozen fish available at the grocer’s anything like today’s frozen fish. No flash freezing on the boat or vacuum sealing for this catch. It was harvested, delivered ashore at some point, and eventually transported to a processing facility. No matter the variety, it all came out in identical cardboard packages, long and rectangular, with a stylized image of supposedly whatever fish was inside. When thawed, it was limp and soggy, any semblance of firm cellular structure long gone. In retrospect, how inspired could a dinner be which starred this sad protein?

The weekly preparation was always the same. The fillets were baked in the oven with a bit of butter, lemon, dried herb and sliced olives. That was it. It’s pretty easy to understand how a Midwestern farm girl could decide that seafood wasn’t really food worth eating. Which was the attitude I carried with me when I left the farm for the big wide world. Save the ocean-don’t eat fish!

Fortunately the seafood menu offered by the big wide world considerably expanded my view of how delicious fish could be. From the eastern seaboard to the coasts of Oregon, California, Mexico and Italy; from the isles of Fiji, New Zealand and Thailand, I’ve enjoyed freshly prepared seafood in a multitude of preparations. Now when eating out, a firm menu choice must wait until I hear a description of the daily seafood special. More often than not, that will be what I order.

While I live in a desert, large bodies of fish bearing saltwater are closer to me now than when growing up on the farm. I am lucky indeed to have several high quality fishmongers within fifteen minutes of my home, with firm, plump selections of fresh seafood. Fish and/or seafood are now on the menu at least once, sometimes twice, in the week. Grilled, broiled, pan sautéed, and steamed, but uh… not baked. While baking fish could perhaps be successful, my memory of baked fish leaves something to be desired…

Which brings me to the fish we are serving this evening. White fish like halibut are like blank canvasses, just waiting for someone to spice them up. Which is precisely what jerk seasoning does. And of course once you’ve gone the jerked route, hot and sweet salsa on top is an absolute necessity. The black rice underneath is the perfect complement, nutty and chewy.

While grilling is a year round option in the southwest, this recipe is traditional hot weather fare in most locales. The fruits used in the salsa are classic summer varieties too, so now is the time to get grilling. You can catch it or buy it, just don’t bake it!

Print Recipe

Jerk Halibut with Fruit Salsa

Prep Time30 minutes mins

Cook Time15 minutes mins

Total Time45 minutes mins

Course: Entree

Servings: 4 servings

Author: Mary Kay Allen

Ingredients

• 1 ½ lb. halibut filets/steaks or other meaty fish suitable for the grill
• 2 teaspoons jerk seasoning purchased or homemade
• Fruit Salsa
• 1 cup diced fresh pineapple
• 1 ripe mango peeled and diced
• 2 Kiwi fruit peeled and diced
• 4 large strawberries hulled and diced
• ½ cup diced red onion
• 3 tablespoons chopped cilantro
• ½ jalapeno pepper seeded and diced (leave the seeds in if more heat is desired)
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 1 cup forbidden black rice or other rice of choice

Instructions

• Prepare a gas or charcoal grill to a medium hot flame. Sprinkle the fish with the jerk seasoning and rub in. Store in refrigerator until ready to grill.
• Prepare the rice according to package directions.
• Combine all ingredients for the fruit salsa in a medium bowl, stirring well. Set aside until ready to serve.
• When the rice is done, set aside to steam in the pan while the fish is cooked. Place the pieces of fish on the grill grate directly over the fire. Grill to doneness preferred. A general rule for cooking fish is to allow ten minutes per inch of thickness. If the surface appears grilled before the center is done to your liking, move the fish to the edges of the grill to slow the cooking.
• To serve, plate individual servings of rice. Place a fish filet atop each serving of rice and ladle on generous spoonsful of fruit salsa.

For a young farm girl, traveling 25 miles down the road to the city of Dayton was a significant venture. A small distance by today’s standards, but surface streets of that day weren’t designed for efficiency. In actuality though, the principal expanse of the day’s journey was not about physical distance; it was about cultural distance. Life on the farm was insular; isolated in many ways. There was a vast multitude of people as well as happenings in the world, both of which were totally outside my experience. Which, I suppose, is one of the reasons my folks decided to raise us on the farm. Must maintain the innocence…

Every now and again though, Mom and Grandma would dress me to the nines in dress, hat, gloves and patent leather shoes for a trip “downtown.” I have no memory of why we were going, probably shopping. I was too busy gawking at all the lofty ornate buildings, along with every person whose appearance was different from my own. Of which there were many. The experience was honestly scary, due to my ignorance of where the heck all these different people came from. It never occurred to me to ask any questions concerning these thoughts, perhaps because I subconsciously understood that the times didn’t encourage such inquiries…

I could forget my concerns though when we arrived at the decidedly upscale dining room of Rike’s Department Store for lunch. At which I perpetually ordered the “little chicken.” This item from the kid’s menu was served in a ceramic ramekin, shaped like a chicken. The head and wings formed the lid. I never tired of lifting it off to reveal a little mound of steaming hot mashed potatoes covered with creamed chicken. If only such simple delights made my day today!

There was, though, a different sort of downtown trip that we made with just Mom, who I tend to forget had experienced a more sophisticated life before moving to the farm. Forget dress up and upscale. We would duck into an exotic dark little stairwell, and descend into a kitschy underground Chinese restaurant, complete with gaudy paper lanterns and stylized Chinese wall characters. In retrospect, there was absolutely nothing authentic about this spot, but it was my proper introduction to some of those different people, and to food that wasn’t meat, potatoes, and vegetable, each confined to their assigned space on the plate. I was eating egg foo young, basically scrambled eggs with some canned bean sprouts and soy sauce and feeling pretty darn worldly for a little farm kid.

In our farm kitchen, stir-frying came into vogue sometime in the late sixties-early seventies. Mom did not invest in a wok; she just used her electric skillet. Her claim to fame in Chinese cuisine was a dish she called chicken velvet, which she often prepared for guests. No idea where she got the recipe. In fact, I’m amazed to learn that “velveting chicken” is actually an authentic Chinese cooking method used to lock in the juices and keep the chicken moist and tender. Who knew? The strips of cooked chicken were combined with canned bamboo shoots, water chestnuts, candied ginger and green beans. While the only authentic thing about it was the cooking method, it made a delicious meat and vegetable entrée fit for company.

My version today offers a nod to Mom’s, though I eschew the “Chinese” vegetables for fresh seasonal vegetables. If a can of water chestnuts just happens to be residing in my pantry, I toss them in for old times’ sake, but they are completely optional. Her recipe didn’t include a sauce either, which I’ve added. One should feel free to tinker with the proportions of meat to vegetables, too. Given my current practice of less meat, more vegetables, I’ll be reducing the amount of chicken and increasing the amount of vegetables the next time I prepare it.

I can say honestly now that I’m a world traveler who has met numerous peoples and experienced many cultures and cuisines of the world. I can drive ten minutes from my home today and order what is probably a much more authentic Chinese meal. But I wish that little Chinese restaurant still lived underground in Dayton, and that Mom and I could duck in one more time. That is not to be, so I guess I’ll head to the kitchen to “velvet” some chicken

Print Recipe

Chicken Velvet

Prep Time30 minutes mins

Cook Time15 minutes mins

Total Time45 minutes mins

Course: Entree

Cuisine: Asian

Servings: 4 servings

Author: Mary Kay Allen

Ingredients

• 1 lb. chicken breast sliced on the horizontal into 1/8-inch thick pieces
• 2- tablespoon cornstarch divided
• 1- tablespoon dry sherry
• 2- tablespoons water
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce
• 1- tablespoon sherry
• 1- teaspoon sambal oelek
• 1- teaspoon sesame oil
• 3 green onions split lengthwise and sliced into 1-inch long strips
• 1- tablespoon minced fresh ginger
• 3 to 4 cups stir-fry vegetables cut into 1-inch pieces (good choices include red bell peppers, asparagus, mushrooms, fresh green beans, broccoli, carrots, celery, etc.)
• 1 can sliced water chestnuts drained (optional)
• 3 tablespoons avocado oil or other oil with high smoke point
• ½ cup chicken broth
• ¼ cup sliced almonds
• Cooked rice for serving

Instructions

• In a medium bowl, combine the chicken slices, 1 tablespoon of cornstarch, sherry, water and salt. Set aside. In a small bowl, combine the soy sauce, sherry, re3maining cornstarch, sambal oelek, and sesame oil. Set aside. Have all vegetables prepared and ready for stir-frying.
• Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over high heat in a wok or large skillet. Add half the chicken and cook, stirring constantly, until the chicken loses its raw appearance. Remove to a large bowl. Repeat with additional tablespoon of oil and remaining half of chicken.
• Heat remaining tablespoon of oil over high heat and add the green onions and ginger. Stir-fry for 30 seconds, and then add the remaining vegetables. Stir-fry for 3 to 4 minutes, adding the broth midway through. When vegetables are just crisp tender and broth reduced by half, add the chicken back to the skillet. Pour the reserved sauce mixture over and stir until the sauce thickens and becomes translucent. Sprinkle with the almonds and serve over rice.

My farm boy dad was an experienced gardener, having been raised on a farm with nine siblings to be fed. He was never happier than when in his vegetable garden, and he brought produce into the kitchen with great satisfaction. I do believe, though, that he took the ultimate pride in the firm heads of cabbage, with their tightly furled leaves and bright green color. Dad loved cabbage, but it was an unrequited love, as cabbage was particularly tough to digest for someone with his gut issues. Long before terms like IBS and fodmaps were part of the vernacular, eating cabbage kicked him to the curb repeatedly. But he ate it and other items that caused him pain and bloating, because… well, I guess because that’s just what we did in those days.

By the time I was a young adult, the beginnings of my own IBS had emerged. Unlike my dad, I had the whole cabbage thing figured out, along with legumes, and avoided them like the plague. So, driving with my husband last week to pick up our CSA veggie share, it should not have been a surprise when I mentioned that we would be hitting the produce-trading table with the week’s cabbage share. Suddenly, he began to wax nostalgic about… cabbage rolls. For those not familiar with cabbage rolls, they consist of a blanched cabbage leaf stuffed with ground meat, rice and seasonings, which is cooked long and slow in a bath of tomatoes and their juices. I believe they originated in Eastern Europe, but they are quite popular in the Midwestern United States. From my perspective, they are little bloat balls of doom.

Now my husband is regretfully tolerant of my dietary adjustments, but I have learned that when the longing for a forbidden item hits, I need to nip it in the bud, pronto. Attempting to snatch victory from the jaws of cabbage roll defeat, I suggested that we could make meat-and-veggie rolls by stuffing a more acceptable vegetable, like maybe chard. It actually had the advantage of being a softer leaf that would not require the extra step of blanching to relax it; he’d never know the difference, they’d be even more delicious than cabbage rolls, etc., etc. This appeared to work, so now I had to actually make chard rolls.

So who knows what goes into a chard roll? I decided to think more like a Greek than an Eastern European. Chard shares similarity in taste to spinach, which goes well with lemon, and feta might be good tucked in there somewhere. Heck, I like lamb better than beef, and yummy things like olives and pine nuts would be right at home in a vegetable meat roll. Right? Luckily, this proved to be true, because the chard rolls turned out to be so-o-o much better than cabbage rolls! The chard leaves became silky, imbued with the lush flavors of broth and lemon. The meat stuffing had the richness of lamb and pine nuts, with tang provided by olives and feta. These rolls, conceived in desperation, were the best meat rolls I could imagine. It matters not whether you are an aficionado of cabbage rolls; you should try these. BTW, I don’t fool myself that the cabbage roll craving won’t show its face again, but I will worry about that when it happens. In the meantime, I’ll be making these…

Print Recipe

Greek Style Chard Rolls

Prep Time45 minutes mins

Cook Time45 minutes mins

Total Time1 hour hr 30 minutes mins

Course: Entree

Servings: 4 servings

Author: Mary Kay Allen

Ingredients

• 1/3- cup rice parboiled in 1 cup water: 10 minutes for white rice, 20 for brown rice
• 1 Tbsp. garlic infused olive oil or 1 clove diced garlic with 1 tablespoon olive oil
• ½ cup diced fennel
• ½ cup diced onion
• 2 Tbsp. pine nuts
• ¼ cup finely chopped Kalamata olives
• ½ cup chopped parsley
• ¾ tsp. salt
• ¾ tsp. pepper
• ½ tsp. dried oregano
• ½ tsp. fennel seed
• 1 Tbsp. dried dill
• ½ cup crumbled feta cheese
• 1 lb. ground lamb 85% lean
• 1 egg beaten
• 2 bunches chard
• 1-½ cups chicken broth
• 2 Tbsp. lemon juice

Instructions

• Preheat the oven to 350° F.
• Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium high heat. Add the fennel, onion, pine nuts and garlic, if using. Sauté, stirring occasionally until the vegetables begin to soften and the pine nuts begin to toast. Stir in the olives, parsley, salt, pepper and spices. Remove from heat to cool while you prepare the chard.
• Wash the chard leaves, then slice out the part of the stem beneath the leaf, leaving just the leaf. Spray a 9x13-inch baking pan with cooking spray. Stir the feta cheese crumbles and egg into the cooled vegetable mixture, then combine thoroughly with the ground lamb. Place several tablespoons of the meat mixture at the top of a chard leaf. Fold in the sides of the leaf over the meat, then roll up to enclose the meat. Repeat with remaining chard leaves and meat mixture until chard leaves are used. Make any remaining meat mixture into small meatballs. Arrange the chard rolls and meatballs in the prepared pan, pushing them tightly together as pictured. Combine the broth and lemon juice and pour over the rolls. Cover the pan tightly with foil and bake in preheated oven for 45 to 60 minutes, until chard is done and meat mixture has expanded to fill the rolls. Serve hot.

Our farm had a broad swath of front lawn, peppered with long-standing shady elm trees. An old-fashioned wooden picnic table lived under one of these leafy umbrellas. “Having a picnic” simply meant taking our meal outdoors. Given that this was an earlier time and we raised our own meat, the dinner usually featured a slab of grilled meat known as the “set piece,” or main dish. It became a grand celebration on the evenings when my dad brought home a watermelon or we all strained muscles on the hand-crank ice cream machine.

I always had my own private celebration when the grill made its entrance from the garage out onto the driveway. I have no idea how my mother developed her skills on the charcoal grill. While she had a small repertoire of recipes, the dishes she grilled were masterpieces. Crisp crusted yet rare steaks. An incredible foil wrapped, slow grilled chuck roast with a succulent sauce of grilled onions and tomatoes. Juicy Asian marinated grilled chicken. Thick rosemary infused pork chops. There were soaked wood chips for smoking, drip pans, direct and indirect sides to the grill- you get the picture. She was not one to fling a hunk of meat over the fire, give it a squirt and hope for the best. (That is actually my style, as I did not follow in her footsteps on the whole grilling routine…)

Mom’s grill was no prize, either. It was an ancient metal event, boxy and black, encrusted with years of grease and BBQ goo, whatever that may have been… I suspect that it was actually those dicey substances that were holding the metal together. BBQ cement of a sort. I don’t know where it came from, but she used it for many years with delicious results. Sadly, while I loved the products, I never learned how to cook them myself. While I might season or marinate today, my husband mans the charcoal around here. For which we are all exceedingly thankful.

We are stalwart year-round grillers, no matter our locale of the moment. Midwestern rain and snow were overcome to grill throughout the winter months. Here in the desert southwest, the neighbors regard us with great suspicion in the mercilessly hot summer as my husband trudges out to start the fire.  He prays that it kindles into coals that will actually cook something, then races back inside until time to put the to-be-grilled items over the coals. Since our meat consumption has been reined in considerably, this is usually fish or vegetables; occasionally steak, which we portion out into a summer salad. Grilled chicken also makes the cut, remaining one of my favorites from summers on the farm. While my mother’s recipe had a very simple soy based marinade, my usual grilled chicken marinates in a more complex Middle Eastern style marinade that features my preserved lemons. Yeah, still pushin’ the lemons. Somebody around here has to do it.

Print Recipe

Moroccan Spiced Grilled Chicken

Juicy grilled chicken with Middle Eastern spices and the tang of preserved lemons.

Prep Time20 minutes mins

Cook Time45 minutes mins

Total Time1 hour hr 5 minutes mins

Course: meat entree

Servings: 6 servings

Author: Mary Kay Allen

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons diced preserved lemon peel
• 2 tablespoons lemon brine from preserved lemons
• ¼ cup lemon juice
• ¼ cup olive oil
• 3 green onions chopped
• ¼ cup chopped parsley
• ½ teaspoon coriander
• ½ teaspoon turmeric
• 1- teaspoon sesame oil
• 1 teaspoon dried oregano
• ½ teaspoon salt
• ½ teaspoon pepper
• 2 teaspoons Sambal Oelek
• 1 whole chicken cut into serving sized pieces

Instructions

• Combine all ingredients except chicken and blend well. Pour over the chicken pieces and marinate, refrigerated for at least 4 hours, or up to overnight.
• Remove chicken from marinade and grill over medium hot gas or charcoal fire until cooked through and juices run clear.

I have to wonder what they were thinking. Perhaps they were ahead of their time, transitioning the diversified family farm to an egg farm. My mother was a stay-at-home mom after years of being employed. Perhaps she was bored, or they wanted to supplement my dad’s income. Who knows? Whatever the reason, the pullets arrived and we began to produce eggs. Y’know how a few chickens in the backyard is a charming idea? Two thousand chickens, not so much… and that’s a small number when compared to today’s egg production facilities.

Egg farming facilities tend to get a bad rap these days, but many of the high production practices of today weren’t even imagined when my folks decided to narrow their farm focus to egg production. Our chickens were housed in a huge old airy tobacco barn, well ventilated with a high roof and lit with long windows.   The dirt floor provided plenty of room to roam along with insects to supplement their feed. Rows of roosting boxes lined with hay allowed them to nest comfortably. No cages and no oddly bred birds unable to hold up their own weight. These birds lived in the high rent district in comparison to the chickens of today.

The egg business also ensured that our own supply of eggs and chicken were never in short supply. Not too surprising that many of our meals were centered on eggs: eggs baked in nests of buttery bread crumbs, waffles and eggs, creamed hard cooked eggs with dried beef, etc. etc. The chickens, however, were the old biddies, who having outlived their ability to produce eggs, required stewing to be tender. My mother and eventually I became masters at producing chicken dinners from long and slow simmered geriatric hens.

The family favorite was what my mother called “pot pie.” Pot pie was not a deep dish of meat and vegetables with a crust, though. It was more of a stew, with squares of chewy homemade noodle dough, carrots, celery and hearty chunks of chicken all afloat in a bowl of very rich chicken broth. It often included little eggs, basically yolks, from the hen’s egg sac. It was true homespun comfort food. I’ve learned in the past several years that it is actually an Amish and/or Pennsylvania Dutch recipe, as are several of my family’s traditional foods.

I had not made this delicious richness in decades. It was lost along with the robust hens that actually taste like chicken. The bland birds available in the supermarket just wouldn’t make this dish. But in recent years I have once again been able to find authentic well-raised hens, at my local community supported agriculture. Better yet, the birds are not the geriatric types. We manage a number of meals from one of these birds, first roasting the whole chicken for dinner, reserving pieces of meat for the stew. Followed by slicing meat for sandwiches. When the carcass is the only remainder, it is stewed along with aromatic vegetables to make the flavorful broth needed for the pot pie. This recipe begs for a cold lazy day. Don’t wait as long as I have to try it.

Print Recipe

Chicken Pot Pie

Prep Time45 minutes mins

Cook Time20 minutes mins

Total Time1 hour hr 5 minutes mins

Course: Entree

Servings: 4 servings

Ingredients

• 8 cups of high quality chicken broth preferably made from your own chicken
• ¾ - teaspoon each of thyme rosemary, and tarragon
• 4 large carrots scrubbed and sliced ¼-inch thick
• 4 ribs of celery washed and sliced ¼-inch thick
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 3 cups cubed or pulled chunks of chicken
• Dough
• 2 cups flour I use my usual blend of sprouted and spelt, but all purpose is fine, too
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 2 lumps of shortening or butter the size of a walnut (about 3 tablespoons)
• 1 egg
• ½ cup hot milk

Instructions

• Bring the broth to a boil in a large soup pot and season with the herbs. Add the carrots and celery and reduce to low. Cover the pot and simmer the vegetables while preparing the dough.
• Combine the flour and salt, then cut in the shortening until the texture resembles grains of rice. Stir in the egg and hot milk, then turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide the dough in half. Roll each half very thin, approximately 1/8-inch in thickness. Cut into 1 to 1 1/2 –inch squares.
• Bring the broth mixture back to a boil, and drop the pot pie squares in slowly. Once all are in the broth, stir to ensure the squares don’t stick together, then reduce the heat to a strong simmer. Cook 20 minutes, or until the pot pie dumplings are tender. Add the chunks of chicken and heat through. Taste for seasoning, adding salt and pepper as needed.