Sunday, March 3, 2013


Ever since Charlie and I got together, my mother has been torturing him to cook for her (he's a chef).  So last night we finally had her and my father over for dinner so she could have the meal she's been begging for.

Now, anyone who knows my mother knows that cooking anything for her is a bit problematic.  So when Charlie asked me "what food does your mother like?", it proved to be a difficult question.  All I could think of was chicken.  And it would have to be very plain, unseasoned chicken.  You see, my mom didn't exactly grow up in a culinary household.  The only spices in her arsenal are salt and pepper.  We've been working for years to get her to try food with actual flavor.  

So I called her up to ask her what she wanted for this sought after meal, and she said (of course), chicken.  More specifically, chicken fricassee.  So he obliged, and made it for her.  Of course he threw in some Dijon and Pecorino Parisian gnocchi as a dumplings substitute, but she was none the wiser.  God forbid we told her there was stuff like chervil and tarragon in the stew.  She would have refused to eat it.

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