Monthly Archives: November 2010

Braised Chicken Curry with Yams

I had forgotten all about this recipe until a few weeks ago I was casting about in my memory for delicious stews to counteract the winter chill . . . and I remembered. All of a sudden, the flavor of this dish came rushing back and I knew I had to make it immediately.

The original recipe comes from Ming Tsai’s East Meets West, which I checked out of the library in Delaware years ago. I had scribbled some brief instructions on a lined sheet of paper which was subsequently swallowed up in my recipe binder where it lived for a few years, forgotten and alone. Until now! Though I loved the base flavor of the original recipe, I wanted some more texture and ‘zing’, so I added some golden raisins and cilantro to finish it off. It’s perfection.

Don’t hesitate–just make it!

Ingredients

(Serves 6)

2.5 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs

Salt and pepper, to taste

3 TBS olive oil

2 large onions

2 TBS minced garlic

1 TBS minced ginger (heaping!)

1/3 c Madras curry powder (fresh as possible)

4 c chicken stock

1 large banana (or 2 small ones)

2 bay leaves

2 large yams, peeled and cubed

1/3 c golden raisins

Garnish with cilantro and blanched almonds, coconut flakes, or lime juice

First, trim the chicken thighs. For some reason the fat on chicken thighs really grosses me out, though I’m immune to the fat of pork or steak.

Now pat them dry (super important!–this will help them brown well) and put salt and pepper all over both sides of them. Heat the olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven. When it’s very hot, add the chicken thighs. You may want to do this in two batches, because if you overcrowd the pot they will steam instead of frying.

It’s important to take your time during this step, because you want a really nice sear. It will probably take 10 minutes per batch. Don’t hurry though–you’re building flavor.

While the thighs are browning, roughly chop the onion. Very roughly.

No mirepoix required here, thank you very much.

Mince the garlic and ginger as well.

You should also have plenty of time to peel and chop the banana.

Once the thighs are done browning, remove them to a plate. They should look something like this:

Your pot will now look something like this:

Without cleaning it, dump the onion, ginger and garlic into the pot . . .

. . . and cook for about 5-6 minutes, until they’re getting golden and wonderful. Stir often so that you don’t burn the garlic! Right now your entire household will come to the kitchen to investigate what that heavenly smell is. Use your tongs with impunity to defend the pot and beat them back.

Now add the curry powder.

What a gorgeous, gorgeous yellow.

Stir constantly and vigorously for no more than 2 minutes. The spices need a couple minutes to get fragrant, but they also burn easily, so keep the ingredients in constant motion.

I should also mention that having the chicken stock handy is important, so that you don’t have to stop stirring. If you burn that curry powder, the flavor of the dish will be . . . not right.

Pour in the chicken stock . . .

. . . and add the bay leaves and banana.

Stir to scrape any brown bits off the bottom of the pot.

Bring it to a boil, then lower the heat and add the chicken back in.

Cover the pot, but leave a little vent for the steam to come out.

Let it simmer for an hour and a half. During this time, the banana will completely dissolve. The flavor it adds is wonderful, but nobody would guess it was created by a banana. If you peak into the pot after half an hour, the banana will look frightening and disturbing. I actually poked at it and asked out loud “What the heck is this thing?” before a logical process of elimination revealed it was the very banana I had peeled and chopped with my own two hands not thirty minutes prior. So don’t peak, and just trust the fact that by the end of the hour and a half it will have completely disappeared.

If you get ravenous, grab a snack. This chocolate from a Big Jake food shipment came in handy. You can see proof that he delights in a good deal by the orange 50 cent sticker.

You should also use this time to peel your yams . . .

. . . and chop them into medium sized cubes.

And rinse and chop some cilantro if you plan on using that.

After 90 minutes, take the lid off the pot and smell the goodness at hand.

Now grab those yams, add them to the pot and give it a good stir to submerge them.

Cook for 30 more minutes with the pot partially covered–but no longer than that or your yams will get really mushy. During the last 15 minutes of cooking, add the golden raisins.

They will get plump and delicious, and they add a fun burst of texture and flavor.

Remove the bay leaves and serve over rice.

Top it with cilantro. Or blanched almonds. Or peanuts! Or lime juice! Or just eat it as is.

The chicken is fork-tender. Mmmmmm.

I also tried sprinkling it with coconut flakes:

Delicious. You can tell this was a different night because the color of the plate has changed.

Make it! It’s fall, and I can’t think of anything else I want for dinner at this moment. A bowl of this magic would hit the spot.

Click here for printer-friendly version: Braised Chicken Curry with Yams

The beast of laundry

At this time in my life, doing laundry is a beast.

Almost continuously for the past 9 years, since I left home to go to college, I’ve been carting my laundry all over creation. I live for the day in which I will have an in-unit washer and dryer. Once that happens, I promise never to complain about doing laundry again!

Or at least I promise to try not to complain about doing laundry again.

Hey, I can’t set the standards too high or I’m just setting myself up for failure. I must retain my right to complain . . . not only is it true because it rhymes, but isn’t there an ammendment to the Constitution that says something like that? With an accompanying Normal Rockwell illustration?

Just kidding. Complaining is actually bad for your general health, so my friends: stay away. Stay positive. Say ‘no’ to whining.

Anyway, the last weekend in October, our laundry situation was getting completely out of control. The sheets were due for a wash . . . the blankets . . . the towels and bathmats . . . and at least a month’s worth of clothes.

The hampers in our bedroom were literally overflowing.

The underwear situation was in a state of emergency.

This post is designed to make those of you who have been blessed with a washer and dryer in your apartment/house grateful. Very, very grateful.

Here is the cart we use to transport the hideous pile to its destination.

Our first mission is to get it down a flight and a half of stairs. Journalistic inaccuracy alert: my husband’s first job is to get it down a flight and a half of stairs. My job is to hold the doors open.

Then we walk it down to the laundromat, which is right next to the El stop.

We come armed with waterfalls of silver coins, known to some as ‘quarters’ and known to others as ‘I can’t wash my clothes without ’em.’

Thankfully they have industrial-sized machines.

Then we hang out for about an hour and a half. Sometimes competition for the little hand carts can be fierce. Soap operas in Spanish play out on the TV’s above us. I bring a novel, and my husband brings his schoolwork.

I made some good progress through “World Without End.”

Children play, throw things, chase each other, clamber up on tables and generally make the place into a playground.

Every now and then a lucky child gets a quarter which, inserted into the slot on this little machine, will give them the ride of a lifetime as it plays the first two lines of “The itsy bitsy spider” over and over again: ‘The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout/down came the rain and washed the spider out.’

And then it repeats that same little piece of melody over . . . and over . . . and over again. It never gets to the “Up came the sun and dried out all the rain/And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again” part, and if you really start thinking about it, that’s just messed up.

Twisted, like.

The person who designed this machine was probably a murderous maniac who just didn’t want the itsy bitsy spider to survive.

I can find no other logical explanation.

The ever-repeating little ditty happens to make me murderous as well, which was probably also in his plan all along: to turn normal, everyday citizens into frantic killing machines. I mean, if the itsy bitsy spider doesn’t make it, what hope is there for the rest of us? Why continue this sham called ‘life’ anyway?

I’ve considered personally disabling this machine, but (if caught) that might mean switching laundromats forever. And I’m not willing to go any further from home than this, not even to save myself from the brainwashing effects of this childrens’ ride.

Oh, the laundromat. How I love it, and how I hate it.

In my desire to document the laundrifying experience for future generations, me and my point and shoot camera did the rounds and captured the sights.

I felt that lugging out my Nikon D5000 might attract unwanted attention from the owners, which is why some of these pictures are not as crisp as I would have liked.

“Why are you taking pictures?” they might demand.

“Well, you see, I’m, uh . . . like, um, a blogger?”

I wonder if they would have understood.

All done! You can see the pile of neatly folded towels on top, proof that our task is complete–for now.

And my husband’s expression–“Um, Jenna, so, why are you taking pictures of me?”

“Well, baby, like, um, . . . I’m a blogger?”

He still seems surprised when I whip out my camera.

A couple more years of ruthless blogging and he’ll be totally used to it. I just have to keep breaking him in.

“But it’s time to eat,” he’ll say–“the food is hot!” “But I have to take a picture of the food first, see?” I try to explain. And that’s how it goes.

Dear future Jenna (now in possession of her own washer and dryer),

One day, Lord willing, you will have a small group of laundry-producing little tykes living with you, otherwise known as children. Especially if you decide to do reusable diapers, you are bound to have lots of laundry. You may be tempted to complain occasionally. Please let this post be a humble reminder that at least you don’t have to cart the laundry outside and inside and outside and inside again. At least you can just walk it across the hall and put it straight into the cleaning machines. At least you never have to listen to ‘the itsy bitsy spider’ song again. So wipe that grimace off your face and start laundrifying with a smile!

Love,

your past self, for whom the transportation of laundry hither and thither is not my most favorite thing to do