Chillin' -- And Saving -- Chez Wiles

On this beautiful autumn afternoon, it is 63 degrees in our house. Not in every room, of course. That would be crazy. We've had the fireplace crackling since 11 this morning; the family room is now a toasty 66, and my teens are draped in blankets. Adorbs!

My original intent was to wait until November to fire up the furnace Chez Wiles. But now that November is here, I wonder to what extremes the kids and I are willing to go. Down comforters? Of course. Four-legged, flea-bearing friends in bed? Perhaps. Seeing your breath in front of your face? Probably not. But then again ...

It's not, necessarily, that I'm trying to save money. I wouldn't deny the kids a warm home just to supplement my 401K. I would, however, stop spending $10 bills.

Yes, you read that correctly. I do not spend ten dollar bills. You won't find this advice splashed across the cover of Money magazine ("Single Mom Devises Retirement Strategy!") My plan is not supported by science or economics -- I'm a communications major, not an MBA. All I know is that when an Alexander Hamilton comes my way, I stash it in a pink leather envelope. When the envelope bulges, I deposit the contents at my neighborhood Bank of America.  And why not? Really. You don't see $10 bills all that often. Georges are everywhere. Andrew Jacksons abound. But if you're getting $10 in change, you're more likely to get a pair of Lincolns than an Alexander Hamilton.  So, when I see a $10, I hang on to it -- which has the side benefit of giving my kids one more reason to roll their eyes at me. (Nothing, though, gets their eyeballs spinning faster than my version of Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off.")

Think those eyes will be rolling when the thermostat drops to 60?

Cool.

Roasted Lemon Chicken and Asparagus
Although this dish is special enough to serve to company, it's also super cost-effective. Use any leftover chicken to make Chicken and Saffron Rice.

One, 4-5 pound fryer chicken
1 lemon, zested
4 cloves garlic, grated (or minced fine)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon fresh ground pepper
1 teaspoon dried oregano
2 stems fresh oregano
1 pound asparagus

Preheat oven to 500, and remove all racks except bottom rack. Line a baking sheet with heavy duty aluminum foil. In a small bowl, combine lemon zest, garlic, oil, salt, pepper, and oregano. Use your hands to carefully loosen skin from chicken. Rub lemon garlic mixture under skin. Prop chicken on an upright roasting rack (I use a Roastup Rocket). Insert rosemary into chicken cavity. Tuck wings in back. Put chicken on the aluminum foil-lined baking sheet, put in oven, and immediately lower temperature to 400 degrees. Prepare asparagus by snapping off the woody ends. After chicken has roasted 45 minutes, add asparagus to baking sheet and toss with chicken juices. Roast an additional 15-20 minutes, or until chicken tests done. (Juices run clear when thigh is poked with a toothpick.)  Remove from oven and squeeze lemon juice over chicken and asparagus. Let chicken rest for 10 minutes before carving and serving with roasted asparagus.

An Adventure At Age 50.An Adventure At Any Age.

I choose to refer to it as an "adventure."

True, I turned 50 two weeks ago.  I turned 50, sold my house and put a contract on a house on the Lake.  And yes, it is Carter's senior year of high school, which means we're pretty busy here with the whole college and graduating "business" (and it is a "business," but that's a topic for another post), and yes, it will be just me and Julia at home next year, and yes, I fully intend to make DB live up to his promise to marry me when Julia graduates.  Which means, yes, I'll  be moving to Charleston in three years.

Still, moving to the Lake in the interim doesn't necessarily signal a mid-life crisis.  Nor is it "insanity," or "impetuous" or "rash."

"Adventure," remember?  "Adventure" is the word I'm looking for.  Or, in a pinch, "carpe diem."

Julia and I are keenly aware of the gaping hole we'll face when Carter heads to college next fall, so listmakers that we are, we maintain a "When Carter's Gone" list.  For example, "When Carter's gone, we'll eat more salad."  "When Carter's gone, we'll take yoga."  "When Carter's gone, we'll get an exchange student," which sounds just like getting a kitten, in that we'll be dealing with language neither of us speaks, but better, because there's no litter box.

A few months back, Julia tacked something new on the list, "When Carter's gone, we'll live at the Lake."

To which, Carter, who was entirely in favoring of dodging salad and yoga and exchange students, responded, in essence, "What the aitch? I wanna live at the Lake."

The way I see it, I only have a couple more years -- or in the case of Carter, months -- of full-time, hands-on parenting.  I'll always be their mom, of course, but God willing, they won't always be under my roof.  They won't always be my funny, thoughtful, insightful dinner companions.  They're already slipping away, moving on, spending less and less time with me.  It's not that I want to cling to this time.   I want to cherish it.

So yes, we're moving to the Lake.  Yes, I understand the transaction costs.  Yes, I understand the longer commute.  Yes, I understand that I'll no longer be able to walk to Starbucks.  And yes, moving is a colossal, miserable, unremitting pain.

But it's also an adventure.  I'm 50 years old, and I'm heading out on an adventure.  With my kids.

Carpe diem.

Three-Way Caesar Dinner

I don't have any regrets about relocating to the Lake, but I do need to watch my budget to make everything work.  Using a single ingredient as a marinade/sauce/dressing is tasty and budget-friendly, to boot!

Caesar Dressing/Marinade/Sauce

1 clove garlic

2 teaspoons anchovy paste

1/4 cup fresh lemon juice

1/2 cup olive oil

1/2 teaspoon hot sauce

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper

3 boneless chicken breasts

12 oz medium chicken noodles

1 bag romaine "salad"

Make dressing/marinade/sauce but combining garlic, anchovy paste, oil, lemon juice, hot sauce salt and pepper in a blender.  (Or, even easier, combine using an immersion blender until smooth.)

Place raw chicken breasts in a zippered plastic bag with one third of the caesar dressing.  Allow to marinate at room temperature for about 30 minutes.

Grill chicken until done.

As chicken grills, boil noodles in a large pot of very well salted water until done.  Drain and toss with one third of the caesar dressing.

When chicken is done, allow to rest for 10 minutes, before slicing on the diagonal and tossing with hot noodles.  Toss salad with remaining dressing, and serve alongside chicken and noodles.

Ten Things Learned During Exam Prep

Exam prep continues apace Chez Wiles. As you might imagine, in such a serious and focused and studious atmosphere, Carter and Darling Daughter are learning by leaps and bounds.
Even I have learned a thing or two these past few days, including:

1. Lionel, the 12-pound indoor cat does not choose to be worn as a hat
2. The refrigerator contains the very same items it did 15 minutes ago. 
3. Ditto the pantry. 
4. The Rapture may not have occurred last weekend, but in one mom's humble -- no make that, "absolutely accurate" --  opinion, Facebook forebodes the end of all learning, focus and individual advancement. 
5. Nobody else’s mom is as mean as I am. 
6. French is easy. French exams? Not so much. 
7. Josie-the-Rescue-Dog will eat green beans. And broccoli. And asparagus. And people of all ages will laugh.
8. Cleanliness may, indeed, be next to godliness. But it’s not next to my kids. Or their rooms.  Not this week. 
9. Oreo milkshakes are magic – which, sadly, does not translate to higher grades. 
10. Everybody has a system for studying. For some people (to whom I gave birth), “system” translates into “a lack thereof.” I’m just sayin’. 

In all honesty, I shouldn't poke fun. No amount of studying would help me successfully pass Darling Daughter’s eighth grade exams – much less Carter’s tenth grade ones. And so, I cook. Tonight we had Grilled Ginger Lime Chicken – a new favorite, and super easy.


Grilled Ginger Lime Chicken
Try serving this with savory Cinnamon Lime Rice.

Juice of two (juicy) limes
¼ cup canola oil
2 teaspoons freshly grated ginger
1 pinch cayenne pepper
½ teaspoon kosher salt

6-8 boneless chicken thighs or breasts 

Combine all ingredients in a plastic bag and allow to marinate 30-60 minutes in the refrigerator.  Remove chicken from bag (discarding marinade) and grill, over indirect heat, just until done.  Do not overcook.

A Clean Room? Now That Would Be Magic.

Although Son and Darling Daughter, at ages 15 and 13, have long outgrown the Harry Potter books (sigh), they both believe our house to be magical. Or criminally-infested. Or both.

I know this because each of them routinely – perhaps, weekly -- instigates the following claim.

“I don’t know where it is. I looked everywhere. It just disappeared."

Note: The magically vanishing object is not relevant here. It could be an ordinary piece of clothing, an algebra book, a water bottle, a housekey, or an item borrowed – almost always from me.

It just disappeared.

Right. Without benefit of a silk tophat, a blond, leggy assistant, or an 11” holly wand with a phoenix feather core (remember, the kids are the ones who've outgrown Harry Potter, not me), those magical words then propel us down a magically-scripted path – one from which we cannot veer.

Me: “What? Are you sure? Have you checked your backpack? Do you want me to help? Maybe it’s at school. Did you check?” Then, the deadly and inevitable, “Maybe if you cleaned up your room …”

Well. This is, indeed, a predictable script. Cue the criminal element. My child, “No, Mom! Stop! It’s gone! GONE! I think it was stolen!”

Stolen? Someone stole your unlabeled USB key? Your field trip permission slip? Your 35-pound backpack crammed with Nature Valley Oat ‘n’ Honey granola bar wrappers and the test you didn't want me to see? Your scraped and cloudy water bottle with the 3” peeled-off residue of a Nantahala River sticker? My new black suede boots with the stacked heels? (Actually someone might want to steal those. They're darling.)

Right.  Allow me to repeat: Maybe if you cleaned your room.

Who know what treasures would be unearthed if you cleaned your room -- if you just picked it up -- a little. Who knows what's lurking under the laundry pile or in the crusted-over closet? The book you're looking for may very well be keeping company with the baseball hat, empty chips bag and hoodie crammed under the desk. At the very least, if you cleaned up your room, I’d have time to fix something for dinner. Although truth be told, this roasted chicken dish comes together in a snap.

We’re big fans of my Slow Cooker Chicken With Artichokes, and one recent evening, I craved the same flavors, but had less than an hour to pull it all together. This fit the bill perfectly. Quick and flavorful.  Like magic.

Still waiting, though, on the clean room.

Roasted Chicken with Israeli Couscous and Artichokes

6-8 dark chicken pieces
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
1 lemon, zested and juiced
½ cup parsley, minced
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons olive oil

2 cups boiling water
1 ½ cups uncooked Israeli (pearled) couscous
1 package frozen artichoke hearts
½ teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon oregano

With a large butcher’s knife, cut together garlic, lemon zest, parsley and teaspoon of kosher salt, until pasty. Combine in a large, resealable plastic bag with lemon juice, oil and cut-up chicken. Massage until chicken is coated with mixture and allow to marinate for 20-30 minutes.

Heat a large, ovenproof skillet over medium high heat. Brown marinated chicken, well, on all sides.

While chicken is browning, preheat oven to 350. Combine boiling water and couscous and let stand 10-15 minutes.

When chicken is browned, remove from skillet, and stir in couscous mixture, artichoke hearts, kosher salt and oregano. Bring to a boil, scraping up flavorful bits from the bottom of the skillet. Remove from heat. Place browned chicken on top, and put entire skillet in preheated oven for 15-20 minutes, or until chicken is done and couscous cooked through. (Add additional water as needed, so couscous cooks completely.)

A Return To Femininity, Blogging and Chicken.

Son and Darling Daughter returned to school a month ago, and I don’t believe I’ve ever blogged so much.

In my own little head, of course.

No joke.  These past few weeks, I’ve been teeming with what I hoped were carefully-composed sentences, clever turns-of-phrase, and tidy little anecdotes.  Nonetheless, my last Feminine Wiles post was over a month ago.

My own fault, really.  Way back at the end of August, surveying the month ahead, I honestly thought, finally, some time to myself.

At least, I hope I “thought” it.  I hope I didn’t actually say it out loud, because even the bats in my attic could see that September was booked before it began.  It is, after all, September, and not January, marking the beginning of a student’s “new” year.   Thirty days hath September, and each of ours was packed – with middle school and varsity cross country meets, Scout meetings, school dances, Homecoming, school football games, daily cross country practices, a return to Sunday School, the obligatory back-to-school meetings, orientations, and shopping – not to mention my own school commitments and the usual, unusual rounds of Charlotte medical professionals.  (Son’s early season injuries have prompted countless appointments.  The only medical advice we haven’t yet sought is from voodoo practitioners.  But that’s because none have yet recommended by name.)

So September has been crammed with scheduling, scheduling, scheduling, meeting, meeting, meeting, transporting, transporting, transporting,.  Then, my trusty and beloved iMac crashed.  (I know, I know.  “Every hard drive will fail.”  Use me as your case study.)  One morning, after the kids boarded the bus, with the click, click, click of a darkened screen, all my scheduling and meeting and transporting vanished.  Poof.

As Darling Darling would say, “WTF?”  (“Why the face?”  Don’t you love it?)  Gone were financial records, photos, iTunes purchases, my freshly compiled book fair list, and then, more cash than I care to confess just to get us back on our computing feet.

Perfect.  (Sarcasm.)  I could've used that extra cash, because anyone knows that all these back-to-school activities also mean “back-to-Chick-Fil-A.”  And Bojangles.  And, on occasion, KFC.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love chicken.  But I don’t know that I can face another “no-butter-extra-pickles-Chick-Fil-A-sandwich.”

In the midst of all the “busy-ness,” though, I’m reminded of another, easily prepared and easily adored chicken dish – one that can be cooked up in a snap and fits in some vegetables.  Or -- between you and me -- lots.

Son and Darling Daughter have long been fans of chicken lettuce wraps, and one harried evening around Labor Day, I had to wonder, why don’t we just make some?

Finally, in these 30 days of September – success.  Chicken lettuce wraps are now a weekly fixture Chez Wiles – inspiring me, perhaps, to finish working out my recipe for East-Meets-West Mu Shu Pork.

In October. 

You know, when I have some time to myself.

Chicken Lettuce Wraps

1 teaspoon toasted (or dark) sesame oil

2 ribs celery, finely chopped

10-12 baby carrots, finely chopped

1/2 red bell pepper, finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, grated or finely chopped

2 tablespooons freshly grated ginger

1 pound ground chicken 

1 can whole water chestnuts, drained, finely chopped

2 tablespoons prepared Chinese plum sauce

2 tablespoons soy sauce

2 tablespoons rice vinegar

1 teaspoon chili oil (or hot pepper oil)

Large leaf lettuce, Bibb lettuce or iceberg lettuce leaves

In very large, nonstick skillet, heat sesame oil over medium high heat until smoking.  Stir in celery, carrots and bell pepper.  Sauté 5-6 minutes, or until vegetables are softened and slightly browned.  Stir in garlic, ginger and chicken, and cook, stirring, until chicken is cooked and slightly browned.  Stir in water chestnuts, plum sauce, soy sauce, rice vinegar and chili oil until well combined and heated through.  Serve hot, a few tablespoons at a time, rolled up in lettuce leaves.  Holy cow.  Or chicken.  This stuff is good.

We're The Class of 1980, Part II

Oh what a night.*

My 30^th high school reunion was this past weekend and I am exhausted.  Exhilarated.  And as event coordinator, exonerated.

It was a great evening.  Most everybody showed up.  Most everybody paid.  And most everybody repeated the same lie, I mean, line, all night long.

“You haven’t changed a bit!”

Indeed, the Fort Johnson High School Class of 1980 looked great.  Had fun.  Took full advantage of the open bar.  And in the end, had to be swept out the door by weary, broom-wielding caterers.  It’s unclear whether the bartenders were more eager to be relieved of us or our 1970s playlist (think The Village People, The Commodores and The Bee Gees).

Just as fun was the chance to meet spouses and dates and hear their perspectives.  My favorite line came from a wife who said, regarding her successful and loving husband, “If I had known him in high school, I never would’ve gone out with him.  Much less married him.”

In fact, after all the memory-sharing and memory-making and merrymaking, that’s what I took away from this weekend.  A direction taken as a teenager does not a lifelong journey make.

Parents worry.  Trust me.  I’m a worrying champ.  I want my kids to be happy in life.  I want them to be successful adults.  I want them to be contributing citizens.  So I’m always wondering:   Are they working hard enough now?  Are they well-rounded?  Are they taking the best courses in school?  Are they generous?  Are they musical?  Are they athletic?  Are they scholarly?  Do they have any heretofore undiscovered and scholarship-worthy talents that I have yet to unmine – perhaps an unnatural gift for Russian literature or bungee-jumping or harmonica playing?  Are they always doing their best?

Heck, no.  No one can.  Least of all me.  However, the moral of my reunion story is that, even if kids aren’t always doing their best, they can still become happy, contributing, successful adults.

The route to “happiness” depends upon the individual.  I know plenty of people, who, as kids, never missed a summer school opportunity.  People who “took an extra lap” in high school.   Teens who may have “skirted” the law.  Kids who made college choices based on nothing more than whims, hormones and the state drinking age.

And despite it all, they're now happy, contributing, successful adults.  Many, in fact, said they’ve never been happier.

Oh what a night.

Just don’t tell my kids.

*The Four Season, 1975

Of course I've got a recipe. It's what we had for dinner tonight, but had nothing to do with the story.  Despite that, it was a huge hit and prompted Darling Daughter to ask, "How do you come up with these recipes?"  Hmm.  Maybe she'll be a chef one day.  A happy, successful, well-rounded, well-paid, altruistic chef.  Could happen.

Rice and Chicken with Proscuitto, Basil and Parsley

4 oz minced or finely cubed proscuitto

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large garlic clove, peeled and impaled on a toothpick

1 cup raw rice

1/2 cup dry white wine

1 1/2 cups chicken broth

1/2 teaspoon salt

sprinkle of red pepper flakes

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

2 cups chopped cooked chicken

1/4 cup fresh basil, minced

1/2 cup fresh parsley, minced

In a large, lidded saucepan, saute proscuitto in olive oil over medium high heat.  When lightly browned, increase heat to high, and stir in garlic, rice, wine, chicken broth, salt, red pepper flakes and lemon juice.  Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, and cook, lidded, for 10 minutes.  Gently stir in chicken and fresh herbs.  Replace lid and continue cooking for 4-5 minutes, or until rice is done.  Let rest 4-5 minutes, fluff with fork and serve hot.

We're The Class of 1980

We’re the best, ain’t no maybe.  We’re the Class of 1980.

My 30^th high school reunion is this weekend.

Do you suppose it would be possible, in the next three days, for me to:

•  Lose 15 pounds?  10?  Nine?  Truth be told, I’d be happy with one.  And a half.

•  Run a marathon?  A half marathon?  A wildly successful and innovative computing empire known as “Apple”?

•  Find in my driveway, free of monthly payments, the Jaguar (eight-cylinder) I always swore I’d have when I grew up?  (Forty-seven is "grown up," is it not?)

•  Publish a novel?  My memoirs?  A three-paragraph post on momswhodrinkandswear.com?  (Who am I kidding?  As instructed by my high school English teacher, Mrs. Evelyn Hall, I can’t write anything in fewer than five paragraphs.  I can, however, drink and swear, something I did not learn from Mrs. Hall.  I swear.)

But wait.  Surely my former classmates --  the Mighty, Mighty Trojans of Fort Johnson High School -- aren't so shallow and competitive.  Besides, I’m a Mom!  I'm not limited to bragging about my own accomplishments!  Perhaps I can:

•  Arrange Son’s early admission to Harvard.  (Yes, he’s only 15 and admittedly unmotivated, but wouldn’t that qualify him as “unique” and therefore, “desirable” to the selection committee?)

•  Persuade 13-year-old and admittedly squeamish Darling Daughter to donate a kidney.  To a newborn.  In a third world country.

•  Train Josie, our highstrung rescue dog who won't fetch so much as a tennis ball, to retrieve meals for an elderly person.  Who’s visually impaired.  And in any other circumstance, suffers from life-threatening canine allergies.

•  Persuade Lionel, the 13-pound feline of the house to ...  What?  Snub us?  Really, what other skill does he possess?

Sigh.  The truth is, there are only two days before I head to home to Charleston, and like Popeye, “I yam what I yam.”  And despite it all, what I “yam” is pretty “yam” happy.

As much as I’ve dreaded the upcoming reunion, in many ways, I’m actually looking forward to it.  Cougar Bait (again, only 23 days younger than me) has agreed to be my arm candy.  He's also agreed to, as the need arises, serve as parking attendant and bouncer/strong arm for those beloved classmates who haven’t yet submitted their reunion checks to me.  (Have I not mentioned that I’m the one organizing the Reunion?  How uncharacteristically non-bitchy of me!)

Moreover, my former classmates -- those who have paid their $55 fee and even those who have not --have been incredibly appreciative and supportive.  They've also been forthcoming with their stories and “scoop.”  (Hoo boy.  I do love me some “scoop.”)

And as a bonus, dear friends have retrieved their not-altogether accurate memories of me.  In some ways, it’s ridiculously flattering.  One friend, in fact, remembered that I often made “Lemon Chicken” back in middle school. 

The recipe, at that time, wasn’t truly my favorite.  I like the idea, but the skin was woefully soggy.  The seasoning came largely from lemon-pepper seasoning.  And overcooked?  Well, considering that the recipe called for it to be cooked FOREVER, why yes,  it may have been.

This version, I think, is much more simple, flavorful and juicy -- with crispy skin, to boot.

If only it could help me lose 15 pounds before Saturday.  Or even one.  And a half.

Go Trojans!

Pan Roasted Lemon Chicken

1 chicken, cut up

Zest and juice of two lemons

1 lemon, quartered

2 tablespoons olive oil

4 cloves garlic, smashed and peeled

1 teaspoon minced fresh rosemary

1 teaspoon kosher salt

½ teaspoon fresh ground pepper

3 strips bacon,  finely diced (optional)

Toss all ingredients – except bacon, salt and pepper -- together in a large roasting or broiler pan.  Allow to rest 15-20 minutes (taking the "chill" off the chicken before cooking). Preheat oven to 450.  (If you have a convection oven, now’s the time to use it.)  Arrange chicken in pan, so pieces are not touching, skin side up.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Scatter raw bacon (if using) over top.  Roast for 20 minutes or until slightly browned.  Check, and, using tongs, squeeze roasted lemon chunks over chicken.  (Don't turn chicken.)  Return to oven and continue roasting until crispy brown and done (about 20-25 minutes).  Allow to rest 10-15 minutes before serving.

What Darling Daughter Missed More Than Me.

She’s baaaaacccck!

Yep.  After four weeks at her shoreline Shangri-La (Camp Seafarer), Darling Daughter is Chez Wiles. 

And hoo boy, she’s an entirely different creature.

As you’d expect, she’s an altogether different shade – more tobacco than tan.  But that’ll happen to even the most diligent 50+SPF sunscreen appliers (of which, she’s one) who spend four weeks at the beach.  And yes, she’s taller – practically my height – but that’s to be expected of a girl her age.

Nope. It’s not physical.  It’s harder to recognize than that. Maybe she’s more composed.  Maybe more confident.  Maybe that most prized of all Chez Wiles’ attributes -- maybe she’s funnier.  Hard to say.  I just know that I’m happy to be around her.

While at camp, DD wrote diligently – for which I owe her at least $14, given my promise to pay her $1 for every “well-written” letter.  I hungrily read and re-read everything she wrote, but my favorites were, without question, the ones where she wrote of missing my cooking.  (She also missed her bed and hot showers, but truly, she mentioned my cooking the most.)

Oh, honey.  You missed my cooking?  Those words are more magical than "abracadabra," "alakazzam," and "I need to see your ID, ma'am"  combined.

I knew exactly what DD would want:  Chicken Cavatappi, Beer Butt Chicken, Caesar Salad with Chicken and Uncle Nick’s Grilled Greek Wings.  In anticipation, I crammed the basement freezer with poultry.  I was ready.

But then, a heckuva storm knocked out that freezer.  All those chicken wings and boneless breasts and thighs defrosted and had to be tossed.  (Puh-leeze.  I can’t bear to come up with a more graphic description than “lukewarm, squishy, funky and leaky.”  Get the picture?)

Which, although a huge waste of money, turned out to be OK, because upon her return from camp, DD declared she’d had more than her fill of chicken – not to mention potatoes and salad.

As I said, she’d changed.  Out with the leaky, sticky chicken, and in with other comfort foods – Tuna Sandwiches, Sausage Pasta – and for the first dinner home, Buttermilk Pancakes.

Of course, I’d worked on a new – and easy – grilled chicken tender with peanut sauce recipe while she was gone and had been eager to make it once she got home  But that can wait.  Until then, I can handle one more round of Pork Fried Rice.  And simply be grateful for that oft-repeated line in her letters, “I miss your cooking” – now my four most favorite words.

Grilled Chicken Tenders With Peanut Sauce

Wooden skewers, soaked in water for at least one hour

1 pound boneless, raw chicken tenders

4 tablespoons ponzu sauce (a citrus-soy sauce)

1 tablespoon toasted (or dark) sesame oil

1 teaspoon fresh grated ginger

Combine all ingredients (except skewers, of course) and allow to marinate about 30 minutes (or several hours in the refrigerator).

Thread marinated chicken on skewers and grill over indirect heat.  Should take only a few minutes on each side.  Do not overcook, or chicken will dry out.  Serve with peanut sauce.

Peanut Sauce

¼ cup ponzu sauce

¼ cup water

¼ cup rice vinegar

½ teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 teaspoon fresh grated ginger

fresh ground pepper

¼ cup smooth peanut butter

In large, microwavable cup, combine all ingredients except peanut butter, and heat to boiling.  Gradually stir hot liquid into peanut butter.  At first, peanut butter will “melt,” and then will thicken the sauce.  When well combined, serve with grilled chicken.

Have You Made Your Bed Today?

My children love the sound of my voice.  They've never said it, but I know.  Five words, in particular, seem to be music to their ears.  Have.  You.  Made.  Your.  Bed.

To be sure, given that I have to ask the question every single day, I’ve had to come up with variations on this melodious combination of words.  There’s “Is your bed made?”  And, “Your bed’s made, right?”  The gentle, “Have you had a chance to make your bed yet?”  And the sly, “I’m sure your bed’s already made.”

It’s so apparent that Son and Darling Daughter like to hear “Have you made your bed?” that I’ll break my own “You can’t answer a question with a question” rule, just so they can hear it.

Them, “Will you take me to Target so I can buy a bunch of stuff I don’t need and a bag of Sour Patch Kids as big as my head?”  Me, “Have you made your bed?”

Honestly.  They’ve each been wholly responsible for making their own beds – every day of the year except their birthday and Christmas (I know, I’m weak) – since they were five years old.  There’s nothing new here.  Yet, no matter how many times I deliver the expected, “Have you made your bed?” the response is always the same:  “What?”

As if.  As if we’ve never met.  As if I were speaking Swahili.  As if I’d asked, “Can you explain the time space continuum to me?  Or why do your sweaty socks smell so much more foul than mine?”

One thing both Son and Darling Daughter do understand, though, is when I say, “We’re having chicken for dinner.”

Between the two of them, only one likes pasta with red sauce.  One likes fish.  One likes scrambled eggs.  One likes steak.  (Go figure.)

Everyone likes chicken.  And this unusual version – marinated in yogurt -- is particularly tangy and moist – and includes a low fat sauce that’s great on steamed broccoli or baked potatoes.

Before the kids sit down to dinner though, I’m sure there’s one thing they’ll want to hear.

“Have you made your bed?”

Grilled Chicken in Yogurt With Curry

4 boneless chicken breasts

1 cup plain Greek yogurt

½ teaspoon cumin

½ teaspoon curry powder

½ teaspoon kosher salt

¼ teaspoon fresh ground pepper

1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Mix all ingredients except chicken, in a gallon-sized, resealable plastic bag.  Squeeze out about half of yogurt sauce, and set aside, to be served later over steamed vegetables or baked potatoes.  Place chicken in bag in remaining yogurt sauce, and refrigerate four to 12 hours.  Grill marinated chicken over indirect heat, just until done.  (Juices will run clear when poked with a toothpick).  When done, remove from grill, allow to rest 10 minutes, then slice and serve.

Getting Things Done. Or, You Know, Not.

Uh oh. Didn’t see this one coming.

Mailman Mike has delivered a letter from Darling Daughter in which she announced that she hopes to earn her NC boating license while at summer camp.

In case I didn’t mention it before, uh oh.

Son and I have made any number of plans to earn our boating licenses this summer. However, if DD comes home July 9 with her license, she may not only be the youngest person Chez Wiles with a boating license. She may be the only one.

Son and I need to get in gear.

It’s always this way, though. The kids go off to camp or back to school or away for the weekend, I think: Finally. I’m going to get some stuff done! That chandelier in the dining room? Out of here! That powder room wallpaper? Incinerated! That fence, house paint, sprinkler system? Replaced, refreshed, repaired!

And on top that that, there’s always that pesky boat license.

To be truthful, DD’s been gone about 10 days now. T-E-N days. Ten. You know what all I’ve accomplished to date? Well, I haven’t posted a blog since she left. How’s that for a clue?

So what have I done?

Hmm. Next question, please.

Even Son – self proclaimed slacker and underachiever -- has accomplished more these past 10 days. He’s actually researched what we need to do to get our boating licenses.  He's visited with friends. He’s been to the lake. He’s been out golfing. He’s compiled a playlist for my 30th class reunion. (As an aside, Son’s playlist is AWESOME. I smile every time I think of it. Who knew a 15-year-old knew so much about Van Halen? Or the BeeGees? Or Meatloaf?) He’s even sliced, diced and interpreted the convoluted World Cup standings, and made them digestible for me.

And I have …

Well, what I meant to do was …

Puh-leeze. It’s not as if she’s coming home next week.

Time passes. Heads turn. Intentions slide. However, the road to hell, as my 11th grade composition teacher pointed out, is paved with good intentions.

OK. I haven’t done anything extraordinary since DD’s been gone. But I have managed to keep up with laundry (True, the laundry is down a third in DD’s absence.) I’ve written a number of letters. And I’ve cooked.

This chicken came about rather haphazardly. I’d intended to make Beer Butt Chicken. But I had no canned beer. Not even any canned Dr. Pepper (which to be honest, works just as well). So I stuffed some, you know, "stuff," in a chicken and grilled it.

Voilà.

But the wallpaper and fence are still up.

Uh oh.
Whole Lemon & Herb Grilled Chicken

One whole chicken
One handful of fresh herbs (I used oregano and chives)
5-6 cloves garlic, peeled
1 lemon, cut in chunks
1 handful kosher salt
1 teaspoon fresh ground pepper'

Tuck chicken wings under the back. Stuff cavity of chicken with herbs, garlic and lemon. Truss chicken legs with twine. Rub exterior of chicken with salt and pepper.

Grill chicken over indirect heat until interior temperature reaches 170, (about 1 hour). Do not overcook.  Let rest 15 minutes. Remove lemon chunks and squeeze over chicken. Carve and serve hot.

Who's Afraid Of The Big, Bad 50?

I’m now 47 and a half. True, I’m still two and a half years away from 50, but I already know lots of people who actually are 50, and I’m not talking about my parents’ friends – I’m talking about mine.

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t want to be a kid again. But I’m not entirely crazy about getting older. I’m pretty darn happy where I am. And when I think about getting older, I worry. And me worrying is never a good thing.

I don’t worry about absolutely everything, though. For example, I don’t worry too much about wrinkles, although honest to Pete, we live in the 21st century, right? Don’t you think by now some smart little scientist would’ve whipped up a skin-shrinking-serum to tighten us up sans surgery – and make himself a bajillion dollars?

And I don’t worry a whole lot about the sagging “girls,” although I could very well be elected president of the “support” lingerie fan club.

Gray hairs don’t get my panties in a wad, either. Have I not mentioned my fabulous hair stylist, Crystal?

What I should worry about is falling and breaking my hip, which is a distinct possibility given that my sole source of daily calcium is a Starbucks venti, nonfat, no-foam chai tea latte. But I’m not even worried about skin cancer, which defies all reason, given that I spent the better part of my youth dunked in Johnson and Johnson Baby Oil, sprawled on towel at Folly Beach in a two-piece.

What I do worry about – what really consumes me – is losing my memory as I get older. This is the one thing I worry about constantly. Or at least when I remember.

Every time I misplace my keys, or forget to return an e-mail, or leave my grocery list at home, I worry. Every time I can’t seem to find a word that was on the tip of my tongue, or I forget the way to someone’s house or one of the kids says, “Remember when I told you [BLAH, BLAH, BLAH] last week,“ I worry.

I even do those little brain exercises that are supposed to keep a person mentally sharp. Crossword puzzles. Sudoku. Brushing my hair and my teeth using my left hand instead of my right.

But then I forget. And I worry.

I recently found a fabulous and fabulously easy chicken recipe in a magazine. I was so taken with it, that I left the magazine open, on my bathroom counter, for weeks. I wanted to make sure I saved the recipe. It was in Food and Wine magazine. Or Oprah. Or maybe Real Simple.

Honest. I have no idea. I went looking for it a few days ago and couldn’t find it. I must’ve flipped through dozens of magazines. (Nope. It wasn’t in the April issue of Money, either.) Convinced I’d seen the recipe in Food and Wine, I checked their website. Dead end. I googled “food wine magazine chicken recipe.” Well, that was stupid. I did another search, adding the word “pancetta.” No good.

WTH? What ? The? H?

Finally, I just came up with my own recipe. I knew the original called for pancetta, but I was out. It called for sage, but that’s not a hit with the kids. But what I came up with instead was really, really tasty. And it’s only got three ingredients, which makes it really, really easy to remember.

No worries. 


Bacon-Wrapped Chicken

Boneless skinless chicken breast halves (smaller sizes are best)
Four short slices of raw bacon per chicken breast
Fresh thyme
Kosher salt
Fresh ground pepper

On a 12-inch piece of plastic wrap, lay four strips of bacon, side by side, slightly overlapping to form a bacon “sheet.” Sprinkle generously with fresh thyme. Lay one boneless breast on bacon sheet, season well with salt and pepper. Now, tightly wrap and roll the chicken in the bacon, so bacon wraps snugly around the chicken. Wrap plastic wrap tightly around the chicken “sausage,” and place in fridge. Repeat with remaining chicken and bacon. Refrigerate chicken rolls several hours or overnight. Now, place chicken rolls in large, non-stick skillet, seam side down. Turn on heat to medium and slowly cook, turning until evenly browned on all side (20-30 minutes).

Remove chicken to a cutting board, and cut in thickish slices. Serve hot.

One Mom's Superpowers.

At Darling Daughter’s middle school, the year-long academic theme for seventh graders is “heroes.”

The students study Greek and Roman mythology to learn about heroes of ancient times.  They read modern novels where everyday people emerge as heroes, albeit occasionally with some reluctance (both the students and the heroes).  In their advisory groups, the kids discuss what makes a hero – both in fiction and in real life.  As I understand it, common heroic qualities are courage, strength, ingenuity, daring and trustworthiness.  Superpowers, while less common, are a plus.

After eight months of having these valuable teachings seared into their brains, each student applies these lessons to identify a bona fide hero in his or her own life.  Now hold on just a minute.  If you're thinking DD named me as her hero, she did not.  I’m her mom – and occasionally, The Worst Mom Ever.  Instead, she named Cougar Bait – who is both fun and funny, not to mention strong, daring, trustworthy, and, to paraphrase DD, doesn’t get all upset when there's a problem.  He also has a boat.  Since I’ve found few occasions in life when I myself wouldn’t rather be on a boat, I have absolutely no qualms about DD’s choice.

Besides, I don’t need a 13-year-old to tell me I’m a hero.  Even without the cape and tights – or even sceptor and tiara -- I have no doubt but that I am SuperMom. 

Behold my superpowers:

•  I can shrink everyday objects.  Chez Wiles, I am the only one who, utililizing a secret series of intricate, origami-like folds, can reduce a full-sized, fitted sheet to dimensions suitable for stacking neatly in the linen closet.  (My mysterious abilities further allow me to both open and close the closet door.  My powers do not, however, allow me to reduce my own weight.  Or shoe size.)

•  I have Superman-like vision.  See that clump of cat hair?  See it?  See it?  See it?  No?  Of course not.  I, and only I, can spot the pale orange fur on the dark striped rug, pick it up and properly dispose of it.  All of that, without squinting, closing one eye, or using x-ray vision goggles.

•  I, alone, control the darkness and the light.  OK.  Not the "light" so much, but the "darkness"?  Absolutely.  This is due, in large part, to training my Dad gave me during the 1970s energy crisis, when he would ask, repeatedly and irritatedly, "Am I the only one around here who knows how to turn off a light?"  Why no, Dad, you are not.  You have shared that superpower with me.  And I am grateful.

•  I can make things disappear -- permanently.  Behold the cat vomit and dog poop on the upstairs landing.  Without uttering a single “abracadabra,” I make them vanish, and with a quick spritz of Febreze make it seem as if they never even existed.  Likewise, show me a dishwasher full of clean dishes.  Within moments, the dishwasher will be empty.  Spooky.

•  I am a master of transformation.   Without benefit of a telephone booth or even the aforementioned cape, I take limp, pink, somewhat slimy items (meat), combine them with impossibly crunchy and oversized items (vegetables), apply magic dust (i.e., kosher salt) and voilà – a meal.

This Stir-Fried Chicken – with only a handful of ingredients -- is yet another example of my extraordinary, nay, heroic,  powers.

Anyone see a cape around here somewhere?

Stir-Fried Chicken

This dish comes together very quickly.  I usually serve it with white rice (cooked with a ½ teaspoon of toasted sesame oil), which I prepare in advance and keep warm while preparing the chicken.

2-3 boneless chicken breasts, sliced in thin strips

3 tablespoon soy sauce (or more, to taste), divided

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon toasted (dark) sesame oil (optional)

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 12-ounce bag of pre-cut and washed stir-fry vegetable mix*

3 tablespoons water, plus additional ½ cup water

2 tablespoons cornstarch

Toss chicken with 2 tablespoons of soy sauce, garlic, sesame oil and red pepper flakes and set aside.  In large skillet (with a lid), heat oil over medium high heat.  When very hot, stir in vegetables.  When veggies become bright green, add 3 tablespoons of water, put lid in place, and continue cooking 2-3 minutes or until crisp-tender.  Remove vegetables from skillet and set aside.  Stir together ½ cup water, cornstarch and 1 tablespoon of soy sauce in a measuring cup and set aside.  Reheat skillet over medium high heat.  When very hot, stir in chicken mixture, stirring constantly until done.  Reduce heat to medium, stirring in vegetables, and then, cornstarch mixture.  Stir gently, but constantly, until sauce becomes clear.  Thin with additional water if necessary.  Serve hot over fresh cooked rice.

* I use Eat Smart Vegetable Stir-Fry Mix from my grocery store’s produce section, but you can easily create your own mixture – of broccoli, snow peas, carrots, red bell peppers, etc. --  from the fresh salad bar.

Another Mother Further. Part Two.

Mothers’ Day got off to a lovely start for me yesterday. Perfect weather, a few extra winks of sleep, thoughtful gifts, our favorite brunch, and inexplicably -- non-bickering kids. I don’t know whether Son and Darling Daughter were in cahoots on that last bit, but it’d be silly to ask, right?

Couldn’t last, of course.

As Son drove us to brunch, our Honda Pilot’s TPMS (Tire Pressure Monitoring System) indicated that the driver’s side rear tire was low. A fluke, right? It was, after all, Mothers’ Day. Just to be sure, I called Charleston to check with my advisor of all things manly -- Cougar Bait. Hmm. CB didn’t want to alarm me, but he noted that if I left the tire unattended, I might wake up to a car limping along on only three good tires the next morning. And then, just to be sure, he called Costco on my behalf, confirmed their operating hours, and told them I was on the way for repairs.

Sigh. I really didn’t have the time. Or the inclination. Weekends are special to me. Especially considering that the custody agreement specifies that Son and Darling Daughter are with their dad every other weekend. That means I only get those two full days of nagging -- uninterrupted by school attendance -- every two weeks. With exams only three weeks away, I had a good bit of nagging to do.

But then, unbidden, DD appeared in the kitchen, asking me to sign a math paper and before I could offer the considerable benefit of my wisdom, giving me her detailed plan to improve her grade.

Not one to be derailed, I went upstairs to explain to Son, in detail, exactly how (in my humble, yet expert, opinion) he ought to spend his afternoon. But it seems he had some kind of spooky, voodoo mindreader thing going, because when I poked my head in his room, he’d emptied out his closet and was making piles of clothes and books – to be donated, to be passed on, to be questioned.

Could Mothers’ Day have ameliorated the need for nagging?

I had no choice but to head to my CB-arranged appointment, where, as I cooled my heels in the aisles of Costco, I acquired a few intriguing facts:

1) You can make a tasty spread with smoked salmon, sour cream and cream cheese. To quote my enthusiastic and aproned friend, “That’s right! Just our special smoked salmon, sour cream and a bit of cream cheese!”

2) “On your way to the hospital [presumably due to choosing an inadequate ladder], you’ll be wishing you had a Little Giant MegaLite.” This is a direct quote.

3) Pub Mix is back! Inexplicably, my favorite snack mix is hit or miss at Costco. Today was a hit. Maybe Mothers’ Day luck? 

4) Edamame, of all things, is available for purchase in 24-ounce packages and can be microwaved.

5) And finally, “A tire can lose half its pressure before it appears to run low.” Sad, but true.

Two and half fact-filled hours later, I drove off with one new tire, arriving home just in time to allow Josie-The-Rescue-Dog -- who spends 23 ½ hours of every day outdoors -- indoors. So she could vomit five times. No kidding.

So much for Mothers’ Day luck.

No sense complaining, of course. I just needed to readjust and arrange to have pizza delivered.

To be truthful, I actually would’ve had time to make the Chicken Cavatappi I’d planned. It’s that simple. And in all likelihood, the kids would’ve enjoyed it more. But somehow, the home-delivered pizza made a much better story. And it reminded me how much more I like my own pizza sauce.

Happy Mothers’ Day.

Chicken And Cavatappi
This is another super simple – and absurdly flavorful -- recipe for my friend Megan, and inspired by CB's recipe for Pizza Chicken, which is the very same recipe, minus the pasta.
8-10 ounces cavatappi (or other hearty pasta) 

3 tablespoons olive oil
3-4 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves, each cut in 3-5 large chunks
2 cups marinara sauce (homemade or from a jar)
2 cups pre-grated mozzarella cheese

Preheat oven to 350. Prepare pasta according to package directions, cooking until al dente. While pasta boils, heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Season chicken chunks generously with salt and pepper, and then brown evenly in skillet. Spray an 8-inch or 9-inch pan with nonstick spray. Drain cooked pasta and pour into pan. Place browned chicken chunks on top of pasta. Pour sauce evenly over chicken and pasta. Spread grated cheese over all. Put dish in oven and bake 10-15 minutes until cheese melts, bubbles and begins to brown. Remove and serve hot.

Spring Break -- Then and Now.

Spring Break was a fairly new phenomenon to Charleston County Schools in the 70s.  I don’t think our parents knew what to do with the odd week of vacation – or us.

No problem there.   We were smart.  We were creative.  We were open-minded.  We were teenagers.  We knew exactly what to do with those seven days.  We drove straight – and speedily -- to Folly Beach, rented a bunch of houses (don’t ask), stopped in at Chris and Jerry’s (a sandy little grocery store with eye-rolling prices, a barrel of fresh feta cheese, and an inconsistent policy of checking IDs), dunked ourselves in baby oil, and flopped out on the sand.  Heaven.

C’mon.  It was South Carolina in the 70s.  Certain things – like the drinking age – were different then.  But we didn’t push it.  At that time, SC law also would’ve allowed teenagers -- as young as 14 -- to get married.  We never tried that.  To the best of my knowledge.

We’re a far cry from all that now.  Parental consent is now required for 14-year-old girls to marry in SC.  And spring break is its own industry.  The question isn’t whether you’re going away for break-- it’s where.

Then it’s a matter of cold (skiing) or warm (beaches), active (again, skiing) or sluggish (again, beaches), educational or, well, I’ve got two teenagers.   The Smithsonian is no longer an option.

This year, we chose warm and sluggish.  My bad.  There was no “warm” on Amelia Island last week.  Which instantly put a cramp in “sluggish.”

Look.  I’m certain Amelia Island is delightful – the other 51 weeks of the year.  Last week, though, for the three of us, though, the words “chilly,” “dreary,” “overcast” and “threatening” come to mind.  And the weather wasn’t any better.

Still, we had fun.  There’s no denying how much I enjoy the kids’ company.  Come rain or shine, they are howlingly funny.  Just a few quotes:*

Why does farting smell so bad? I’m asking.

You should be glad we don't like getting shots. That way, you never have to worry about us shooting heroin.

DD, accusingly, "What are you doing?" Son, "Apparently something wrong."

I'm sorry, but you're just a bad mom.

I like long sleeve shirts. Then you don't have to wear pants.

Fortunately, the trip ended on a high note.  We opted to head to Charleston to spend some extra time with family and friends – sans baby oil and Chris & Jerry’s.  But before leaving the Sunshine State, we fit in a Segway tour of Fort George Island.  You know Segways, of course.  It’s impossible to see one and not think – man I wish I were riding that thing.  We did.  And for us, it made the trip.

All’s well that ends well, I suppose.  At least we didn’t ride home shifting in our seats from painful sunburns and peeling patches of blistered skin from our noses and shoulders.  But I felt like we still needed a little something to remind us of sunnier days -- maybe something like this fresh and light tasting grilled chicken.

The Sunshine State may not have lived up to its name this time, but we were smart.  We were creative.  We were flexible.  Heck.  Some of us were even teenagers.

*I keep an ongoing list of these quotes.  If you'd like to read more, check out "Overheard At My House" on Facebook or @HeardAtMyHouse on Twitter.

Grilled Ginger-Citrus Chicken

4-8 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (depending on how many you’re serving)

1 lemon, zested and juiced

1 lime, zested and juiced

1 orange, zested and juiced

1 clementine (optional), zested and juiced

1 tablespoon fresh grated ginger

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

kosher salt

fresh ground pepper

3 cups hot, cooked rice (1 cup rice to 2 cups water)

In a resealable plastic bag, combine chicken breasts, citrus zests, juices, ginger, vegetable oil and red pepper flakes.  Allow to marinate 30 minutes.  Drain, reserving marinade, and season each breast with salt and pepper.  Grill over medium-hot coals until done.  (About 5 minutes per side for thin breasts).  While chicken cooks, heat remaining marinade to boiling (in the microwave is fine).  When chicken is done, allow to rest 5 minutes before slicing and serving.  Stir 2 tablespoons of heated marinade into hot rice and serve with sliced chicken.

If You're Early, You're On Time. If You're On Time, You're Late. And If You're Late, Who Knows What's For Dinner?

I don’t like to be late. I don’t like to be late and I don’t like to be on time.

I like to be early.

Son and Darling Daughter are well aware of this quirk. It rears its head every morning, when, in my role as master-calendar-keeper, household-chauffeur and bossy-mom-extraordinaire, I go over who has to be where and when for the next 24 hours and how that affects everything they are compelled and would like to do and what colleges they may get into as a result.

Today, for example, Son had (yet another) orthodontist appointment. This one, though, was unusually important, because, unbeknownst to him, Son was having his braces removed. Over breakfast, I reminded him that I’d be picking him up later at school. I also coordinated what he’d be doing after school, DD’s afternoon with friends, the upcoming weekend plans, other doctors’ appointments on the horizon, and how our plans might change in the event of rain. (Yes, in addition to being early, I like being thorough.)

The appointment was at 9:00 a.m. Since it takes 15 or 20 minutes, with traffic, to get there, I planned to leave at 8:30 a.m. According to Wiles Mean Time, I’d be there right on time -- 10 minutes early. Perfect.

Kinda. Sure, I’d be there 10 minutes early – but without Son. Oopsy daisy. Must’ve been a hole in the schedule.

No need for suspense. Yes, I was late. And I hated it. I was late picking up Son at school. We both hated that. But by then, there was nothing to be done. We could’ve fumed and stressed. We could’ve yelled at the stupid cars that were driving 10 miles below the speed limit in the passing lane. (OK. We kinda did, but they deserved it.) And Son really could’ve yelled at me -- understandably. But mostly, we laughed. We listened to the radio and laughed all the way to the appointment. And I was grateful.

Yes, we were late -- really late -- getting to the orthodontist. But, as is so often the case, it worked out. The kids’ orthodontist is famously accommodating.

Son’s braces are being removed as I type.

And look. There he is. I am dazzled. For the second time today.

I’m still a planner, though, which is why I came up with this recipe for Slowcooker Chicken in Peanut-Ginger Sauce. Somebody has to be thinking ahead. And somebody has to be accommodating.

In my family, I’m blessed to have it all.

Slowcooker Chicken In Peanut-Ginger Sauce

When I first came up with this recipe, I tried it with bone-in, skin-on thighs, but the result is too fatty and too much work. This version is super simple and very flavorful. The thighs stay moist and tender, and I cook plenty of them, so I can use the leftover chicken in salad or Chicken in Saffron Rice.

10-12 boneless, skinless chicken thighs, excess fat removed
½ cup creamy peanut butter
¼ cup soy sauce
½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
1 ½ tablespoons fresh grated ginger

1 red bell pepper, cored, cut in thick strips, then cut in half
8 ounces sliced mushrooms
6 peeled garlic cloves

Fresh lime wedges

Quickly sear chicken in a nonstick skillet, over high heat. Put in slowcooker. In a large measuring cup, gradually stir soy sauce into peanut butter. Stir in red pepper flakes, sesame oil and ginger. Scrape mixture into slowcooker and toss with chicken. Scatter bell pepper, mushrooms and garlic on top of chicken. Cook for 3-4 hours on high, or 6 hours on low. Gently pull chicken into bitesize pieces and serve over hot lo mein noodles, or linguini or rice.  Squeeze a bit of lime juice over, for extra flavor.