Chicken Stew

It’s 10 to 11 on Monday night. I’m certain that I should be in bed and that I shouldn’t have undone my hectic workout with that hunk of chocolate.

Oops.

I went to bed in good faith nearly an hour ago; but somehow my mind turned to work, which resulting in the mental equivalent of tossing and turning. After 40 minutes of disrupting my partner’s beauty sleep I slipped out of bed, into the snuggie and onto the sofa. I’m now listening to our clock tick at irregular intervals, to road noises, to birds and a peculiar metallic sound emanating from outside.

It’s only Monday.

Today I finalised a community garden proposal. I followed up on some pending projects. I got cranky and drafted a letter, which I’ll have to re-write tomorrow. I contacted the press about Jindy Idol. I deleted more than 400 emails. I also did so much upper body work at the gym that my arms might not work tomorrow, which would be satisfying were it not for the aforementioned chocolate.

I mentioned “oops.”

It’s been a long day. Tonight I went at a meeting (of my own volition!), so Nick had chicken nuggets for dinner. They’re his special treat when I’m away. I had leftover chicken stew alongside cheddar and black pepper biscuits. It was fantastic, and it would’ve been healthy if I’d had one biscuit instead of two.

Chicken stew, and biscuits, are delicious, and they remind me of home. I love getting out the slow cooker in the morning, chopping all the vegetables and throwing the meat in whole. The trick, of course, is to let the heavy stuff–carrots, onions, potatoes–simmer all day and to add the more delicate vege–let’s say green beans and capsicum–in the last half hour of cooking. A dash of Worcestershire, a splash of red wine, a teaspoon of Vegemite all get whacked in at the beginning alongside all of the spices you’d use in a roast: rosemary, sage, marjoram, thyme. Salt, pepper, sumac (it’s the magic ingredient).

Mom’s recipe was never so complicated. I’m pretty sure the stew I ate as a kids was meat and three vege (carrot, onion, potato) brought to life with salt, pepper and oregano. It was consistently fantastic, designed to cook so long that the beef fell apart and the potatoes crumbled.

The biscuits were, and are, made from scratch with enough butter to put a smile on your face. My biscuits weren’t as good as Mom’s until Sunday, when I figured out a things: sifting the flour is not optional and self-raising flour is not an option. Cream of tartar, on the other hand, is magical. The cheddar biscuits I made on the weekend were a peppery delight. I’d show you a photo, but we ate them all.

Okay, I ate most of them.

This calls for an extra RPM class, I think. I’ll try to give up sweets again tomorrow. And maybe try my hand at a veggie stew.