Chicken Flambé

Saturday afternoon. We've been to the zoo in the morning. We've had lunch. It's a lovely afternoon. He takes the boys upstairs and lays down with them to get them to take a nap. I start poaching some chicken for dinner while the ladies sleep.

But the ladies didn't sleep. Apparently the nap was enough in the car on the way home from the zoo, and they are done chattering and now want out of the cribs. I head up to release them. They play in their room while I lay on the couch with my eyes half open, drifting in and out. Mostly I'm brought back to the waking world when a hand clutching a toy beats me in the face and runs away. After a little while, that doesn't even faze me and I just kind of lay there blob like as the girls chatter and run around or climb on top of me and laugh. It was a lovely Saturday afternoon.

And then the fire drill started. He and I met in the hallway in panic as the fire alarms are blaring. We're on the second floor and we can see the smoke already. The chicken. It has gone through all of the water in the pot and started burning on the stove. How long was I up there? I don't even remember. I throw the pot outside, and it burns a mark into the grass. We throw open the windows. He makes fun of me. The boys never wake up. The girls replace the pot in the backyard not missing a beat.

And then I did it.

I cut off the burnt part and made chicken salad. And it wasn't too bad once I covered it in eggs and mayo and seasoning and grapes and bacon and then a little more bacon.

It is now tested. And the Lodge enamel cast iron is amazing at withstanding cooking in our home.