It’s not strange for anyone that knows me that I love to cook. Anything. Even if I do not particularly care for it, I still don’t mind cooking it…unless it’s
fish or deer of course. Blech.
Three days ago it was reasonably cool for this area. Eighty degrees was, in fact, the high for the day. So, even though it’s not really the wintry weather that I am really used to, I felt like it was a day for “cold comfort food”. You know those chili, soup kind of days. Jeremy doesn’t really care for sweet stuff, but every once in a while. And since I love the smell of pastries cooking, I decided I’d make him some brownies. Sigh—they were from the box though. It’s kind of hard to bake pastries in a camper, but damn it I was determined.
With the brownies done and their sweet smell still permeating the air, I decided to cook some chicken and dumplins. I do not really know if this is the exact way you’re supposed to do them or not, but nevertheless, I do them my way and they still turn out awesome. I boiled four chicken breasts and tore them into pieces. And seeing how Freckles, is my wittle puppy dog she was right under my ass the whole time. “Bite, mommy, bite.” I know she thinks this.
—on a side note, I think everyone has though of this at least once in their lives. When you are not at home, your animals talk. Damn it, if you could just catch them!
Anyway, of course I’m going to share with the dog as I’m ripping up the chicken. Onto the soup part. Again, I’m not terribly sure if this is the ‘right’ way to make chicken and dumplins, but I’ve always done it this way. I put the chicken in some cream of chicken soup in a pot on the stove. I’m getting ready to do the dumplins. Now, I do have all of the ingredients to make the dumplins, flour, water, salt, etc. But I opt for the easier way. But before I get into details about dumplins, a short story:
One hot, summer day a lady asked her to pick up a few things and bring them by her house in a dangerous part of Baltimore City. The sweet old lady was wary but felt that she couldn’t say no, even though she was terrified of driving in the part of the city that often had shoot-outs and other drug violence. Anyway, the woman went on her way, picked up the groceries and proceeded to the lady’s house.
As she entered the lady’s neighborhood she noticed young hoodlums gathering on every street corner. Although she had no air conditioning in the car, she rolled the windows up tightly (as a safety precaution) and suffered in the 90+ degree heat.
She drove ahead until suddenly she heard a loud “POP!” and felt a jolt to the back of her head. She reached to feel the back of her head and came back with a wet oozing mess that she was sure was part of her brain! Knowing that she had been shot, the woman turned around and raced to a local hospital.
Somehow she made it to the emergency room and had the strength to walk right in. She told the attendant that she had been shot. Immediately she was rushed back to an exam room. Doctors whirled around and asked where she had been shot (since they saw no blood.) She said “my head,” and the doctors found a mass of the oozing white substance the woman had first noticed.
Upon inspection the doctors realized that the white substance wasn’t part of her brain but was instead a lump of biscuit dough (the kind in a can) that had exploded from the heat of her car!
Everyone has probably heard some variation of that story. Obviously, it’s not true. Just a stupid story, right?
Anyway, my point is coming, I swear.
I proceed with my recipe. I boiled about 5 cups of chicken broth for the dumplins. I make dumplins with biscuits. I get them out of the fridge sit them on the counter and stare at them methodically, wishing I could open them with my mind. But I know I can’t and this moment has to come. I mean you can’t have chicken and dumplins without dumplins, right? I slowly peel off the wrapping. I close my eyes hold it as far away from me as I can. I always squeal like a little girl and jump, and my heart beats fast, and I have a massive meltdown when I open biscuits. This happens even if I have to hit them on the counter to get them open. I don’t know why. Is it the pop? Do I think some little gremlin is going to jump out of that damn can or what? I just don’t know. All I know is that beyond my fear of the dark, fear of spiders, I have a fear of canned biscuits. Sadly, out of those, I fear biscuits the most. And if Jeremy had been here at the time, I would’ve made him open them.
I need therapy.