Crazy Chicken: An Antidote to Teenage Surliness

Waiting for your child to become a teenager is a bit like driving in a heavy fog.  Everything seems fine as you proceed with caution through the murkiness and then out of nowhere, you have to slam on the brakes and brace yourself for impact.  Well, the wait is over.  5,4,3,2,1…Impact.

My normally happy-go lucky son officially let his “teenager” out of the cage today.  We were on our way home from school, listening to his choice of radio, when the subject of gaming came up.  This is a bit of a sensitive topic in our house.  I’m not against it altogether, but the fact that our TV was purchased, used, about 13 years ago does put a damper on “state of the art” gaming that “all his friends get to do.”  It started with, “Why can’t I have a PS 3?”  The answer is always the same:

“You can.  You just need to keep saving your money and buy one.”

“All the other dads buy their kids play stations!”

“I’m not all the other dads.  I don’t place a lot of value on gaming.  I’m not against it, I’m just not convinced that it’s a great pastime.  I prefer to give you experiences.”

“Why can’t you be a normal dad?  They give their kids gaming when they’re young and take them on trips when they’re older.  You have to take me to Europe when I’m young and make me wait until I’m old for gaming!”

I’m sure you see where this is going.  He got a couple of “oh, I’m so sorry I took you on a five-week road trip from Paris to Rome.  I’ll make sure I never let it happen again…” and the like.  This kind of teenage banter is fairly easy to brush off.  You just have to sit tight, stay quiet, and wait for the wave of martyrdom to pass.  It always does.  Today, however, Andrew was determined for a full teenage flagellation and he had chosen me as his persecutor.

The rest of the commute was short grunts and occasional sighs.  Once home, it was upstairs without a word, headphones on, and (thank God for small graces) homework.  I started in on dinner right away.  The plan was to use the left over lamb for a Shepherd’s Pie, but Andrew had grunted that it may not be to his liking tonight.  I’d peeled the potatoes and onion and knew I could go a few different ways with this.

“Andrew.  Do you want Shepherd’s Pie or Tortilla Espanola?”

“Tortilla.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are there sausages to go with it?”

“No, sorry.”

“Well, what then?”

“How about a grilled chicken breast with a smoked Poblano chile cream sauce?”

“Fine, but you better cut up my chicken breast into pieces.”

“I’m not going to cut up the chicken for you at the age of 13.”

I knew I should have just let it go, but brushing off the teenager was getting harder, and I was about to get it full force again.

“Holly (downstairs duplex mate and perfect mom) would do it for her kids.  I wish you would be more like her.”

“Andrew, I’ll give you a steak knife and you can cut it yourself.”

Anger and martyrdom in full swing; I got what had been building up, squarely in the face.

“GOD, Why can’t you be a good parent like Holly!” as he stormed back in to his bedroom.

Well, I’m really not Holly.  Holly would have cooked the dinner, set the table, and avoided further drama.  Not me.

I, too, believe in sainthood through martyrdom.

I put all of the peeled vegetables into Ziplocks, put everything away, and cleaned the kitchen.  I headed out the door and went straight to Pollo Loco.  Back at home, I set up a place in front of the TV, and ate my dinner.

Eventually, Andrew came out and surveyed the landscape.  He may be 13, but he knows when a good chess game is starting.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Whatever you want.  You know where the kitchen is.  Have at it.”

Not taking the bait, he came into the living room, sat down, and watched TV with me.  About 15 minutes later, a commercial for Taco Bell’s new creation came on, offering a new “Bunch of Junk Supreme” or something.

“Can we get that?”

“Someday.”

“Not right now?”

“No.”

Poker face no more… “Why not, I’m starving!”

Calmly, I reply, “You know where the kitchen is.”

“Come on, I’m starving.  I want Taco Bell.”

“Andrew, what you see here is your dad, relaxing, and taking care of himself.  Please go and take care of yourself.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Maybe you can go downstairs and see what Holly will make for you.  She’s a good mom.”

Suddenly, he’s back in the game.

“How long does it take to defrost chicken breast?”

“You’re going to make chicken for dinner tonight?”

“No, for tomorrow night.”  This is without sarcasm.  He’s planning his next move and it’s long-term planning.

“Oh, you want this arrangement to go beyond today?  Then, let me point out a few things.  Since we’re taking care of ourselves, you can’t go to your study group tomorrow, because I’m not staying late at work so I can pick you up way out in the valley.”

“WHAT?  Then you want me to get an F?  You’re forcing me to get an F!”

“Not my issue.  I already graduated.  Maybe you can get one of the other good dads to drive you there and then home.  Or maybe you can get Holly to drive you over the hill during rush hour traffic and pick you up when you’re finished!”

He didn’t see this coming.  He thought he had positioned his game pieces for a win and suddenly found himself in “check.”   I don’t remember all he said, but there must have been a reason I had put on my tee shirt with the Israeli flag on it…  I was about to channel Jewish mother and finish off the match.

“Look Andrew, I love you.  I love you more than you will ever know.  I can’t tell you how much joy you have brought to my life since I became you dad.  The truth is I live to come home and take care of you.  I love cooking for you and making dinners that you love.  I can’t imagine my life without you and even though I would never have wished upon you the tragedy of losing your mom, I thank God everyday that He blessed me with you as my son.  All I ask is that you show me respect and a little gratitude.  I’m not saying you need to fall down on your knees and say thank you, just that you treat me with kindness and not like a servant.  Am I asking too much?”

Checkmate.

“No”

“Why don’t you have a bowl of cereal?”

“No, I’m just going to go to bed.”

“At 8:15?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”  We’re back to check.  I know he’s thinking that I will feel badly if I witness the ultimate martyrdom: bed without supper and with an apology.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Apology accepted.  Would you like for me to make you something?”

“No thank you.  I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Okay, honey.  I love you.  Thank you for saying you’re sorry.  Duermate con los angelitos (sleep with the angels).”

Checkmate.

Sometimes a big bowl of unsustainable, fast food crazy chicken is just what the doctor ordered.

_________________________

Smoked Poblano Chile Sauce

Smoked Poblano Chile Sauce

The sauce I offered Andrew for the grilled chicken is one of our favorites and will be one of yours too. This is a fast, easy, and versatile sauce I learned to make while living in Veracruz, Mexico. It can be used to:  sauce grilled, baked, or boiled chicken; toss with grilled onions, corn kernels, and shredded chicken for a great enchilada filling; or pour over a chicken-filled crepe. However, our favorite way to use this is in mashed potatoes!  After you cook your potatoes, add butter and then as much of the sauce as you like to taste.  Of course this will mean having to taste these heavenly potatoes after each addition…

The trouble with dishes you make without a recipe is translating what you do into a workable recipe for others. Here’s my translated version for your kitchen. Play around with it. It’s not a magic formula (except the way it tastes).  You really can’t go wrong with this one.

Ingredients:

3 or 4 smoked poblano chiles, depending on intensity and heat preferred (see note)

2 tablespoons butter

1 or 2 cloves garlic roughly chopped

½ small onion

1 cup cream (see note)

2 teaspoons Knorr Suiza  (see note)

¼ cup milk or to taste

A good grinding of black pepper

Char the chiles on top of your gas-burning stove or under a hot broiler until completely blackened. Place chiles in a brown grocery sack, close it up, and let sit for 15 to 30 minutes. Remove from the bag and rinse off charred skin under cold water. Discard the stem and seeds.

While chiles are smoking, melt the butter and sauté the onions over medium heat until translucent. Add the garlic and sauté a bit longer, but don’t let the garlic brown.

Place the chiles and the onion/garlic mixture in a blender and gradually increase power to high. Add the cream, pepper, and Knorr Suiza, and blend until smooth.

Place ingredients in a saucepan and bring just to a boil, turn down heat and let simmer for about 5 to 10 minutes.  Check sauce to make sure it’s not burning and add milk to thin the sauce to your preferred consistency.

Provecho!

Note 1:  Poblano chiles are sometimes called a pasilla chile in California.  They run mild to an occasional hot one.  They can be found in most grocery stores these days.  If you have a Latin market near you, search no further.

Note 2:  Start with 1 cup cream and add milk after you have cooked the sauce if you want a thinner consistency.  If you can find Mexican Crema or crème friache, they work very well too.

Note 3:  Knorr Suiza is a “chicken flavor bouillon” that’s loosely translated as a condiment of Swiss decent.   And even though Rick Bayless won’t tell you this, it is the secret of most home style Mexican cooking.  One of the few things in my cupboards of dubious origin and manufacturing, Knorr Suiza is a must have staple when I want “authentic” Mexican food.  It is easily found in the Mexican/Latin section of your grocer. Salt can be substituted for Knorr to good results, if something is lost in the translation for you .