I’m home for the week. It’s been a month of travel, severe weather, entertaining clients, being up and moving forward,
In celebration of being home, the weather being chilly, I had chicken, veggies, some frozen puff pastry……and a big cast iron skillet. So naturally I had to make something comforting, and homey. A really Big Chicken Pot Pie!
So I cooked the chicken in olive oil and butter, with lots of good garlic, Rosemary, thyme and parsley.
I set the chicken aside, and started the veggies. Onion, carrots, celery, mushrooms, were sautéed in more olive oil and butter.
Flour, more butter, a head of roasted garlic, chicken stock, half and half, and a bubbly goodness emerged.
More fresh parsley, and thyme from my garden to make things fresh. And I let the goodness settle in and become better.
I rolled the thawed puff pastry out to cover my really big skillet. It took 1 and 1/2 sheets to cover it up. I set it in the oven at 400 degrees to bake for 30 minutes.
30 minutes later, I had an ugly but delicious skillet pie to serve to my boys.
I can hear some asking…”Wendy, why don’t you put peas in your Pot Pie?” “You know your crust sunk a bit?”
Oh the answer is simple, and direct. I HATE peas. I don’t buy them…I won’t eat them, won’t use them, and consider them to be evil, vile, slimy, pills of yucky awfulness. Peas are one of 3 foods I won’t eat that includes Tofu, and brains. That is all.
My green contribution was my beautiful parsley and thyme from my garden. I had a wonderful celery from the farmers market and included all the green tops from that wonderful veg.
My husband had a Dr appointment and his cardiologist got on him to keep up with his diet, and to exercise. He told him he would start tomorrow, because I was making Chicken Pot Pie for dinner.
I texted my son that I had made pot pie for dinner. He was still at his lab. He busted through the door about 6:15 demanding “Did you save me any pot pie?” The boy was satisfied with 2 serving of pie.
It’s one of the most satisfying things in my life, to make something good for my family, and for us to enjoy it together.
My little family might be the only culinary stage for which I perform, but it’s the only one that matters to me.
The feminists coming up might mock me for enjoying the satisfaction that I get for making a meal for my family, but they will never know my joy. I feel a bit sorry for them.
I am a woman fully satisfied in my profession, and in my passion for cooking for my family. I am so blessed.