01-22-2024, 12:33 PM
Tonight, on the menu
Chicken & Dijon Pan Sauce
with Brussel Sprouts
and Apple Rice,
a Blue Apron recipe.
Only Tuesday night, again the wife’s
been working late, she’s up soaking
out the grit of the day. Rod Stewart’s
down on the Sonos singing,
“Have I told you lately
that I love you?”
I’ve got the rice started, watching
to be sure it doesn’t boil over
before I can get on the Brussel sprouts
trying to keep the cut side down
but they keep flipping like turtles.
I’ve learned the hard way
I can't add the garlic too soon
or it will burn. Then the puppy
comes with her ravaged bear
(remember my heart)
on generation three or four
to play tug-o-war incessantly
the rice tries to overheat.
Periodically, the fire must be
stoked, fresh wood added
or it dwindles. The melancholy
of the mandolin plays
in time with my chopping, I can’t
help singing along,
“You are my breath should I grow old
you are my lover, you’re my best friend…”
now the sprouts are browned and covered
to keep warm, apples cubed
and added to the rice, the chicken
cooked and set aside for a needed rest
to plump and recover its juices;
the sauce of Dijon, brown sugar, soy
and apple cider vinegar added
to the pan of fond, heated scraping
until slightly thickened then crème fraiche
whisked in off heat. I take care plating
waiting; she comes
hair wet and curled
nothing but robe and appetite.
Chicken & Dijon Pan Sauce
with Brussel Sprouts
and Apple Rice,
a Blue Apron recipe.
Only Tuesday night, again the wife’s
been working late, she’s up soaking
out the grit of the day. Rod Stewart’s
down on the Sonos singing,
“Have I told you lately
that I love you?”
I’ve got the rice started, watching
to be sure it doesn’t boil over
before I can get on the Brussel sprouts
trying to keep the cut side down
but they keep flipping like turtles.
I’ve learned the hard way
I can't add the garlic too soon
or it will burn. Then the puppy
comes with her ravaged bear
(remember my heart)
on generation three or four
to play tug-o-war incessantly
the rice tries to overheat.
Periodically, the fire must be
stoked, fresh wood added
or it dwindles. The melancholy
of the mandolin plays
in time with my chopping, I can’t
help singing along,
“You are my breath should I grow old
you are my lover, you’re my best friend…”
now the sprouts are browned and covered
to keep warm, apples cubed
and added to the rice, the chicken
cooked and set aside for a needed rest
to plump and recover its juices;
the sauce of Dijon, brown sugar, soy
and apple cider vinegar added
to the pan of fond, heated scraping
until slightly thickened then crème fraiche
whisked in off heat. I take care plating
waiting; she comes
hair wet and curled
nothing but robe and appetite.