Two months ago a very fortunate thing happened. Farmer Paul and I met Graham Kerr – The Galloping Gourmet. Thanks to a mutual friend and impeccable timing, we spent a very enjoyable lunch hour talking with Graham and he shared with us his excitement about his upcoming book which is completely focused on vegetables.

And, during the one hour we spent with him, Graham was able to do something I have not managed in almost twenty years of marriage – he convinced Farmer Paul to try brussels sprouts. He told him that, when cooked properly, sprouts are delicious. He convinced him that they’re not mini-cabbages. He made Paul promise to try them.

And so, Paul tried them tonight.

To put this in proper perspective, you must realize that twenty years ago, during our first years of marriage, I was shocked to discover that there was one – yes, ONE green vegetable that Paul would eat. Green Beans. Cooked southern style – that is to say, slow boiled with bacon until very, very tender. That’s it. (Unless you count an occasional salad….a very occasional salad.)

Slowly over the years, my cooking skills and his trust in these skills has persuaded him to try numerous other veggies. He now counts a multitude of green vegetables as completely enjoyable and welcome at the dinner table. And this enjoyment seems to inspire the kiddos to eat their veggies too. In fact, the whole family eagerly looks forward to asparagus, broccoli and big servings of salad all summer long.

And, happily, as of tonight, brussels sprouts are added to the mix. Cause Graham was right, and Farmer Paul does like them!

I wonder if there are people who were born with a natural cooking ability. With an intuition for knowing just what a recipe needs. With a knack for adding the perfect amount of seasoning and spice. With the instinctive touch to make the perfect adjustment that elevates the dish from good to amazing.

I wasn’t. I absolutely was not a natural-born cook. I became the cook I am today (which – all modesty aside – is a very good cook) after years of hard work combined with a willingness to accept critique and the generosity of others who shared their knowledge, tips and recipes. And it is this last component which I am addressing today. Those who share.

My go-to cake recipe came from Mom; the recipe for the world’s greatest pizza sauce was given to me by my sister; a previous co-worker generously shared her husband’s secret for an amazing artichoke dip; I learned the secret to homemade fried rice during a brief conversation with a man who cooked at a favorite Chinese restaurant; and the list could go on and on.

But mixed in with all these treasures are recipes that are also missing. I never did get a friend’s mother’s famous apple pie recipe. The only person she would give it to was her own daughter who was sworn to secrecy. And I would dearly love my friend’s dill pickle recipe, but she has considered selling them someday, and wants to keep her recipe a secret just in case.

Personally, I have always been generous with my recipes. If someone asks, I share. To me, it’s an honor to be asked. And only once have I regretted it.

By all accounts, Paul’s grandmother was an amazing cook. Although I never had the privilege of enjoying anything she made herself, I did inherit some of her treasured recipes. Her biscuit recipe is unlike any other I have ever seen, and it is the only recipe I ever use. I used to watch Paul’s Dad make these amazingly light and delicious biscuits many times and saw how important it was to mix the dough and cut the biscuits quickly, flipping them in scorching hot grease in a searingly hot pan and then into a hot, hot oven where they rose perfectly and came out toasty brown and crispy on the outside while staying fluffy on the inside. It’s all in the timing. And if you know the timing and aren’t afraid of heat, they are easy to make.

Since I came into possession of the recipe, I have shared it outside of my immediate family exactly once. A friend of a friend asked me for my recipe and I wrote it down for her along with what I thought were detailed instructions. She was most unkind and vocal in her “review.” Words like “flat” “hard” and “extremely disappointing” were tossed about freely. She seemed to feel that I had done something to sabotage her family’s breakfast. She suggested that I was one of “those” cooks who left out critical information in order to keep the title of world’s greatest biscuit maker for myself. Or something.

I’m sure she over-worked the dough or didn’t completely preheat the oven and the pan or used old baking powder or didn’t hold her mouth right or … I have no idea. I just know that she was unhappy, and that made me sad.

When I share a recipe, its with the hope that they will enjoy it as much as we did. I am afraid to share my biscuit recipe again. I don’t want to disappoint.

What about you? Do you share recipes or do you keep them to yourself?

It also means that for the most part, when we had chicken, it was either leg quarters (thighs and drumsticks) because they were inexpensive, or a couple of whole chickens cut up into parts.

I was about 11 or 12 when Mom first guided me through cutting up a chicken. I clumsily learned how to find the joints, pop them and then carefully slice through. And thanks to Mom’s patience and close supervision, when I was done, it looked more or less like chicken parts were supposed to look.

After I moved out nd got married, I fell into the trap of the bland, boneless, skinless world of easy and “healthy” chicken. With few exceptions, I never cooked dark meat, and rarely cooked chicken with bones in it. I’m sure my kids had related the word for the chicken we had for dinner to the word for the birds we saw in books and on TV, but whether they made a real-life connection from the reality of the boneless skinless meat to the walking, squacking feathered creatures, I have no idea.

Of course, as you know if you’re been to our farm website or have been reading this blog for very long, you know that three years ago we moved to Washington State and started raising chickens. As we butchered the first batch of chickens and I started preparing them for the freezer, those chicken cutting-up lessons of my youth came in very handy.

As time went on and customers came by to get their chickens, I began to get questioned about how to cut up a chicken. I quickly realized that many people didn’t have the privileged childhood I had, and have never cut up a chicken in their lives. One lady told me that she and her mother had spent over an hour trying to break down one bird, and in the end, it was a mess. Others have told me that they always roast or poach their birds whole rather than attempt to cut them into parts.

Any time I get asked, I am happy to give a quick demo and explain the process, and I like to think that some people go home with their fresh chickens afterward and attempt the process for themselves.

A couple of months ago, as I was looking for something online, I found a link to a terrific video demonstration on cutting up a chicken.  Then the other night our dinner guest appeared to be amazed that the chicken breast on her plate looked like one that you would buy in a store. It made me realize how lucky I was (though I never would have thought it at the time) to grow up in a home where I did get the experience of learning how to cut up a chicken.

So for those of you who have not had the same opportunity and experience, here is a wonderful demo on how to cut up a chicken. Although of course, if you’re coming by the farm this summer to pick up your chicken and would like a personal lesson, let me know. I’ll be glad to help.

Tonight we had a guest for dinner, so I left work 1/2 hour early so that I’d get home early and dinner wouldn’t be too late. But, as happens with so many well thought out plans, this one was thwarted.

Traffic.

It took way more than an hour to travel what normally takes 20 minutes. But even though I spent so much of my time this evening surrounded by brake lights, I still was able to get an amazing (it’s no time to be modest) dinner on the table before 7 p.m.

I know what you’re thinking…Chicken Cordon Bleu? How could something so amazing be done so quickly?

Well, there’s two answers to this question.

First, I did some of the prep work last night. Second, the recipe is nowhere near as challenging as you might expect. And third, I’m just that good. (I know I said two answers, so just pick your two most favorite from the above list.)

So if you want an amazing, yet easy, weeknight dinner, simply:

Take a boneless, skinless chicken breast and cut a pocket in the side. Into this pocket, stuff a piece of ham, cooked bacon or prosciutto (my pork of choice) and a piece of cheese (I used Ementaler, but it could have been Gruyere or Swiss or almost any kind you like.) Use toothpicks to close the chicken. Repeat for the number of servings you want. Place all chicken in a pan, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight. (The overnight rest helps it hold together when you cook it.)

The next day…

Heat the oven to 375. Also, heat 1/2″ oil in a skillet.

Set out three pie plates, dishes, pans or other vessels of choice. In the first, put about 1/2 c flour, seasoned with salt and pepper. In the second, mix 1 egg with 1 T water for every 3 chicken breasts you are cooking. In the third pan, dump in some panko breading along with salt and pepper – maybe 1/2 cup panko for every chicken breast you’re making. You probably won’t use all the panko, but it’s easier to have too much than to just have barely enough.

Remove toothpicks from the chicken and, one at a time, dip/dust the chicken in the flour, then dip in the egg wash then finally cover in the panko. Set chicken aside. When all the chicken is breaded, carefully place in the hot skillet. Cook until chicken is golden brown on one side, then turn it over and brown the second side. Place on baking sheet.

When all chicken is browned, place it in the oven for about 15 minutes. It’ll be done when a thermometer reads 160 degrees in the middle of the chicken.

That’s it. If it sounds like hard work, think again.

If it sounds amazingly delicious, just know that you’re right.

Of course, what really makes the meal superb is terrific company. But that’s a story for another time.

I’ll tell you all about it in June.

It’s been a rough couple of days in our household. My mother came down with a stomach flu on Tuesday, and Austin and I were copycats and decided to be sick on Wednesday. This morning, Austin was better, but I wasn’t, and Ryan was.

Usually when I’m sick I can still read about food. I think maybe its because when I read about food, its more of a fact-finding process rather than an imagining-what-it-tastes-like process. I read food blogs and cookbooks for the articles, not the pictures.

But yesterday, I couldn’t even do that.

By about 10:30 this morning, however, that all changed. I got hungry and food sounded good. And I even wanted to get up off my butt and cook something.

So I made soup noodles.

I pulled out a quart of frozen homemade chicken broth, dumped it in a pan with 2 cups of water, some chopped onions, a crushed clove of garlic and a couple of chopped up carrots. When it came to a boil, I added soy sauce until it tasted salty enough, then two “bunches” of my favorite organic udon noodles. Boil 5 minutes to cook the noodles, and we’re good to go. Better than packages of ramen, but without all the crap.