It’s Monday night and I’ve spent another day at the bottom of the office food chain. Yes, I’m a worthless piece of plankton. To top it off, the 6:30 Bikram class is sold out. I’m pissed. “Well, Namaste bitches,” I utter under my breath as I leave the studio. No enlightenment for me this evening.
I stop at Whole Foods. This is a mistake. For a place that offers nutritional nirvana, it’s not very conducive to those with generalized anxiety. I’m amazed that no one’s been shanked while waiting in those color-coated, checkout lines. You do, on occasion, witness that pathetic soul who mixes-up their designated color. They see blue instead of purple and BAM! They’re up against a barrage of angry girls in yoga pants. Shit gets real – real fast.
And what is up with the existential nature of those 10 items or less and 10 items or more lines. It’s a perfect recipe for meltdown mode. Where do I stand if I only have 10 items? Does a six-pack of beer count as one or six items? If I can’t even figure out what to do with my life, how can I possibly figure out which line is for me.? It’s like Jean-Paul Sartre is channeling me.
“What is the purpose of these lines?”
“What is the purpose of my existence in these lines?”
Then there’s that Whole Foods employee who assigns you a line. “Left, right, left, right,” he shouts. It’s a little too “Heil Hitler” for my taste. Like my Uncle Lazar, an Auschwitz survivor, warned, “when they said right, you bet your ass I went left.”
Overwhelmed, I’m tempted to head for the prepared foods. Now, I don’t enjoy cooking an elaborate meal after a long day either. But don’t settle for the take-out. You know that just about everything looks better than it actually tastes, leading you to take more than you actually want. Instead, cook.
Below is an easy weeknight recipe I’ve adapted from Ina Garten (all hail the Contessa). I’ve tailored the process for my minuscule kitchen and more miniscule budget. Here is what you’ll need.
(2002, Barefoot Contessa, Family Style)
1 package of boneless, skinless chicken breasts (If you don’t want to use all the chicken breasts—they usually come three to four in a package – place them in a Ziploc bag and freeze them)
1 cup of all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon of freshly ground pepper
2 eggs (can be substituted for 1 cup of milk if you don’t have eggs)
1 tablespoon of water
1 and ¼ cup of dried, plain breadcrumbs (Do not make your own, that is just stupid)
½ cup of grated parmesan cheese(The cheese is not the main focus of the meal so now is not the time to splurge on parmigiano-reggiano. Buy the grocery store’s brand, it’s cheaper and will usually come pre-grated)
1 tablespoon of butter
1 tablespoon of olive oil
Side Salad
1 Pre-rinsed package of greens
Olive oil
1 Lemon
Mustard (if you have Dijon great but any mustard can act as an emulsifier)
Pinch of salt
Pinch of pepper
Before jumping in, organize your workspace. If this morning’s coffee mug is still in the sink, for god sakes, clean it. Success in a small kitchen depends on planning ahead.
For this recipe, I like to create additional counter space by taking my cutting board (21-inch by 15-inch), and placing it over the sink. This creates continuity between the stove and the prep space. This way, I don’t drop raw chicken en route to the pan. Next, line-up two large plates and one large bowl on the cutting board. In the bowl, whisk your eggs and water. For the first plate, combine the flour and pepper. For the second plate, combine the breadcrumbs and Parmesan cheese. Set aside.
Take your chicken breasts and place them, one by one, between two pieces of wax paper. If you don’t have wax paper, you can use a Ziploc bag or even a plastic bag from Duane Reade. Then again, you may not want to pound polyethylene into your chicken. Next, take the flat side of a hammer (or any other weapon you keep under the bed) and beat the shit out of the chicken. Pummel it like it’s your ex’s face. You can do it, put your back into it. The breasts should eventually be about ¼ inch thick. When you’re done expressing yourself, cut away any excess meat that’s become too thin. Otherwise, it will burn when cooked.
Return back to your prep station to bread the chicken. Coat both sides of the breasts with the flour mixture, followed by the egg mixture, followed by the breadcrumb mixture. Stack on a plate or separate cutting board and set aside. I have a separate cutting board for all dead animal products – just trying to be on the safe side. Dismantle your temporary prep station and clean. Just do it. Otherwise you’ll run out of workspace.
Next, make your dressing. I have a personal vendetta against bottled dressing. It’s a silent killer. Not only does it house more preservatives than a Botoxed Beverly Hills mom, but it’s a waste of money. Homemade dressing is stupidly easy to make so don’t be a lazy bastard. Take a glass jar (peanut butter or jam jar works fine) and combine the oil, lemon, mustard, salt and pepper. Shake – with the lid on, obviously. If you don’t eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, start now, or just use a bowl. Your oil to lemon ratio should always be two to one, so adjust for serving size. Set aside next to your greens.
Heat the butter and olive oil in a large skillet and cook the chicken breasts on medium heat (as if my stove has medium heat). You may need to add more oil once the meat gets going. Cook the breasts on each side for approximately three to four minutes depending on the strength of your stove. My stove is a piece of shit so sometimes it can take longer. If you’re terrified of salmonella, cook the breasts a little longer. To ensure that the meat is cooked through, insert a knife into the middle of the breast. If the meat is white and juicy, you’re good.
Dress the salad and serve on top of the chicken. The lemon vinaigrette will soak into the warm chicken to give the meat another layer of flavor. If you’re feeling real fancy, accompany the meal with a glass of white wine.