“Oh my God.” [Weird noises that don’t belong in the kitchen]
If you’re like me and watch cooking shows more than is societally acceptable, you’ve noticed the hyperbole of mind-blowing culinary masterpieces. Today, I share the dark side of cooking for yourself. Mercifully, this dish was only consumed by me. Well, me and the garbage.
Whilst flipping through Bon Appetit — in between watching cooking show episodes on my DVR — this recipe caught my attention. White beans with broccoli rabe and lemon. Simple ingredients. Minimal effort. Sounded like my type of dish.
I never had broccoli rabe before, but it was a green. Would this be the next kale?! My mind wandered with the possibilities. It doesn’t take much to make me happy.
So there I was. Me and the ingredients. Let’s call it a date.
I seasoned and seared butterflied chicken breasts in olive oil. After they were done, I put them on a plate to rest. Then I began following the recipe. Because of my hubris, I opted to add in a few extra ingredients. Nothing radical, a diced tomato, sliced baby bellas, and chicken stock instead of water. Otherwise I followed the recipe.
Once all the ingredients were ready to simmer for a spell, I added the chicken on top of the beans and greens, put a lid on top and finished cooking the chicken.
I plated the dish and had my ritualistic photo shoot, that I fear is becoming a compulsion.
As I sliced the chicken I knew, like you know, the chicken was tender and moist. Spearing it like Poseidon with my four-tined fork, I gathered a bite of the greens, beans and bird.
Instantly I knew, like you know, the taste.
100% organic, locally-sourced vomit.
The acidity was overwhelming. The lemon slices imparted an incredibly bitter taste from beginning to end. Short of dumping a bag of sugar into the pot, I couldn’t think of any way to salvage the dish. I suffered through it for a while. Then I remembered I had some self worth, not much, but some. For the first time, I threw out an entire meal. Shitty meals happen. I’ve heard you learn more from your failures than your successes. They really meant you die of starvation from repeated failures.
I removed and sliced the chicken, put it on a tortilla with pepper jack and lettuce.
The cause for the Chicken a la Vomit was one of a few things. Cooking the chicken in the pan beforehand probably didn’t leave the greatest of flavors to build a sauce, but I think the main culprit was a sour lemon. You know what they say, when life gives you lemons, you chuck them as far as you can and make a burrito.