Chicken dinner, meet pizza night. Chicken sautéed until golden brown and baked with marinara sauce, gooey mozzarella cheese, spicy pepperoni and fresh basil.
For the sake of clarity and because I really, really like you guys, I want to acknowledge that this title might be a little misleading.
Say you were googling “chicken pizza,” this post might show up (probably on page 35, but whatevs) and I wouldn’t want you to get halfway through reading it before you realized that this recipe is not, in fact, for pizza with chicken on top of it.
This recipe is for chicken cooked in the style of a pizza. And it’s frigging delicious. It’s cheesy and salty and tangy. Exactly the flavors your tongue expects when your brain has told it you’re having pizza for dinner. It also happens to be gluten free and ready in about 20 minutes.
This vodka, grapefruit and rosemary cocktail is tarted up with St Germain elderflower liqueur and has a refreshing, herby taste perfect for cocktail hour.
One of my favorite words of all time is the French word for grapefruit: Pamplemousse.
Say it! Pamplemousse. It’s hilarious, right? It sounds like it should be Liberace’s favorite color. “Why yes, we had the whole living room done in pamplemousse and mauve. It’s divine.”
I also love that it’s a pretty effective insult in French, meaning an annoying, pesky, person who is immature. And of course, it also means boobies. So many uses!
Of course the best use for un pamplemousse, as it is for most citrus in my opinion, is to juice that thang and mix it with some spirits. In this case vodka and elderflower liqueur.
Britain is a big old seaside with a few towns in the middle, and while we were there, we often had excellent seared scallops when we ate out. This is our attempt to recreate this dish, served over pureed peas with crisped pancetta.
In the spirit of curmudgeonliness, here’s the real history of Valentine’s Day.
On February 14 around the year 278 A.D., a Roman priest named Valentine was executed.
A little background: Emperor Claudius II (not the stuttering one) had a problem. He was having trouble maintaining a strong… military (not a euphemism, for once). For some reason the men of Rome were reluctant to join an army led by a man whose nickname was ‘Claudius the Cruel’. Go figure.
Claudius presumed it was because of their strong attachment to their wives and families, so he did what any reasonable ruler would do. He banned all marriages and engagements in Rome.
Valentine, hoping his name would one day be synonymous with chalky chocolates and teddy bears holding roses, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret.
That is until he was arrested and beaten to death with clubs. And then his head was cut off.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
These Korean cocktail meatballs, sweet and spicy, are so tiny and cute and delicious you might forget there’s even a game on.
It’s no secret that I’m not really a sports person. I’m the type of nerd who avoids sports bars at all costs. And if I was forced to go to one, I would probably hide in a corner with a book and a set of earplugs.
Luckily for me I married a man that hates watching sports even more than I do. Other than the World Cup and the occasional Wimbledon match, our house is a strictly sports-free zone (unless you consider marathon-watching season 2 of Fargo a sport, which I do).
But there’s one aspect of Superbowl madness I can unequivocally get behind. Game day snacks.
Blood orange salad is a colorful, tangy and healthy way to remind yourself that winter will not last forever. As a bonus, it also wards off scurvy!
This is the salad that reminds us that, even in the dead of winter, there are still wonderful things to be found if you know where to look.