Sometimes, you just don't know what to cook. You've racked your brain, gone through all of the ideas for recipes you can find, and nothing strikes your fancy. So, not knowing what else to do, you ask a family member for a suggestion. Something they might like to eat.
Then, that family member makes their suggestion, and immediately you wish you hadn't asked.
That ever happen to you? Well, in this edition of Grandpa Gotta Cook, let's explore that totally made up and completely hypothetical scenario, and delve into every dark and dank corner of its squirming, squealing, pungent guts, shall we?
You know. For science.
For science!
Let me flesh out this totally made up and highly hypothetical scenario a bit further.
This family member, who happens to be your spouse, is from Mexico. And she (or he), happens to like something called ensalada de pollo.
Are you with me so far?
Okay, so normally, since she likes it and knows how to make it, she's the one that will put it together, and the rest of the family, realizing it's either eat it or go hungry, will go ahead and eat it.
And really, it's not all that bad, once it's eaten, it's just not so high on the list of foods you would want to eat, when there's so many other very delicious and scrumptious and amazing and wonderful tasting food.
Like, about a kazillion others.
Now, knowing all of that, imagine your disdain and near horror when, after making your very innocent query, of all things, she suggests you make ensalada de pollo.
Not only that, she's serious. So serious, that even when you try to change the menu, she insists. It's not quite make it or else, but you can see it from where you are because it's like inches from your face.
This close: | |.
And, you know, you've learned it's not about how many battles you win but how you manage to stay married, because who wants half a house, half of the grown children and half a car?
No one.
So, taking a deep breath, you sigh, mutter, "Whatever!" (just loud enough so you get some satisfaction out of it but so she still can't hear it), and you go to the kitchen and get to work.
Is that enough context for this totally made up and completely hypothetical scenario? I'm feeling like it is.
On to the pretend food preparation.
For those who don't read Spanish, ensalada means salad, and de pollo means of chicken, or en inglés, Chicken salad.
Now, this is the kind of meal where you would use left over chicken from another meal. This is a very important tip in this totally made up and utterly hypothetical scenario, because, even when it's all pretend, you don't want to especially cook chicken.
Not for this.
Also realize that you will be shredding this chicken. If you want, you can cut the chicken up some and then shred it. Your choice.
Okay. Chicken is in the name of this dish so that's the most important ingredient. For the rest of it, you need the second most important ingredient.
Mayonnaise.
You thought I was going to say vegetables or leafy greens or yard weeds that they pass off as salad mixing nowadays.
Nope.
Mayonnaise. If you like Miracle Whip better, you can use that. Or, if you're into this sort of thing, you can make your own.
Just know you will need a very healthy dolloping of mayonnaise for this recipe to work.
Next. There are variations on the theme, some like frozen vegetable mixes that include peas, cubed carrots and corn, etc. But let's say you don't have such a bag because most members of your household aren't particularly fond of peas, and you know that.
Another possibility are chunks of boiled potato, but of all the ways you could possibly prepare potatoes, that's the absolute last way you would ever want to do it.
Instead, you go for green beans and corn on their own. Two separate pans, from two separate cans, on two separate burners.
You are keeping them separate instead of mixing them together because some family members like green beans, and some like corn, but only you and your spouse will actually eat both. If you keep them separate, you create options. A mini salad bar, if you will.
Okay. You've got the basics, the gist, the spirit of the ensalada de pollo. But let's say the creative side of you, just to pizzazz this totally made up and wholly hypothetical scenario up a little, you decide a tiny bit of offroading is in order. Not totally wild and crazy, like tossing in scoops of Rocky Road ice cream, but other ingredients that are within the thematic realm.
Besides, everyone knows that if you're going to pizzazz up ensalada de pollo with ice cream, you'd choose something like a mango sherbet or maybe a paleta de coco from your local street cart vendor.
No. You decide that you're going to put ensalada fixings into your ensalada. Lettuce, bits of purple cabbage and some tomato. Add a pinch of salt, toss in a spoon or two of sour cream, and voila. Nothing left to do but stir.
Now that you have the concoction ready, you still need a delivery system. Because, at this point, ensalada de pollo is more like a healthy version of dip, without the queso, salsa, guacamole or clam.
The stuff you really want to eat.
Crackers work, but that's more for a fancy posh fru fru and fluff fluff snack that you eat at a polite party of distant relatives and mere acquaintances. Like them hors d'oeuvres from France.
This is the dinner meal, so you you need to crank it up a notch—to a tostada shell. Corn tortilla, crispified to crunchy perfection. Plus, it might help take the edge off the ensalada.
You can put the ensalada de pollo into the fridge for a couple of hours if you want, but if it were me in this totally made up and outlandishly hypothetical scenario, I prefer room temperature. You're already fighting against blandness and texture, why add cold to the already doomed to fail meal?
La Prueba
I've withheld a little bit of information that is probably pertinent at this point. Let's say, you know beforehand that ensalada de pollo is a no go because your youngest son, who just happens to live with you along with his wife and two small children, doesn't like ensalada de pollo. You make the mistake (translation: gleeful attempt at psychological torture) of telling him that's what his mother has suggested you make for dinner.
You see his shoulders slump as he expels a sigh, and with it, his desire to live.
You feel a momentary tingle of triumph, but then, it's all too quickly replaced with this odd and foreign sensation. Guilt? Pity? Maybe you don't want your boy to suffer after all. But you're committed to doing the deed, because you like your house, car and children whole, so there's no turning back.
Sorry, son. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
With that tale of woe now forever etched in your mind, fast forward to the moment of truth, the taste test. You might actually want to hide, or be called away to do something else while everyone else tries it. You really aren't so evil that you want to watch everyone lose all hope before your very eyes.
After a reasonable period of time, you come back. You see your son. Not only is he still alive but he's got a smile on his face.
That was good, Dad, he says, I guess I was just a very picky eater when I was younger.
Which is true, but you smile back and pat his shoulder and you're actually glad he survived and showing some genuine gratitude. Then he adds, Or maybe you just have to be the one to make it.
Noooooooooooooooooooo!
It's your turn to despair. Still, you haven't eaten yet, you're hungry, and now you're intrigued. Even though you're the one who has made the ensalada de pollo, you've durst not try it yourself, just in case. Science, after all, needs test subjects, to preserve the scientist when something inevitably goes wrong. It's all about the earth saving importance of the work. Are the rats or the guinea pigs going to carry on?
Nay!
So, heartened by your sons reaction and compliments, you try it. A big scoop of ensalada de pollo that you slather onto the tostada. Maybe you add a little more. Then, you take a bite.
Hunh.
Not bad.
But, since this is a made up and solely hypothetical scenario, you might have to eat all of it, just to make sure.
Then, eat another.
You know. For science.
For science!
All images courtesy of Glen Anthony Albrethsen