Saturday Night Dinner

Now I'm going to be totally honest. Because that's what I do here. Be totally honest. Whether you want to hear about it or not.

I have never grown a garden before. I have never composted before. Nor have I ever made cheese, rain barrels, or any of the other things I set out to make here. And I certainly have never gone to the demo derby at the Logan County Fair. (Until later today.) That's the whole point. This is all about me trying things I've never done before. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don't.

Often they don't.

Take, for instance, my first cheese-making episode. I chose not to post on that one because I failed miserably with the photos (too blurry) and the cheese, although it looked OK, tasted like a big nothing. So I spared you a big rundown on that process just because then you'd be bored when I posted a success story (which you'll see very soon—promise).

But I think it's only fair to admit that I screw up. And often. And I'm not afraid to tell you about it.

Particularly in the kitchen. You see, I'm only a wannabe cook. I absolutely love food: buying it, cooking it, eating it. Mostly eating it. And I have grand visions of the sort of cook I might be someday. But for now? I just find stacks of recipes I want to try, muddle through the ones I think Conservative Boy might be willing to eat, and then take stock afterward to decide whether they're worth making ever again. Usually it's not the recipe that's the problem. It's me.

Take, for instance, Saturday night's dinner. I finally had some time at home to cook cook cook on a weekend evening and decided to go all out with something new. Plus, I had lots of fresh goodies (from the front yard and the farmer's market) to work with.

The menu: Artichoke-stuffed chicken breasts, potatoes on the grill (yes, I threw in an old standby for C.B.'s sake), green beans with mint and basil, and petite fruit tarts for dessert. (Oh, and slices of warm French bread and a glass of wine for me, but both of those are a given.)

This is what I stuffed the chicken breasts with:

It's a mixture of canned artichoke hearts, grated parmesan cheese, and some fresh-picked thyme. I managed to do just fine with the mixture. The problem arose when I sliced these wacky little pockets in the top of each chicken breast in which to place the stuffing. A huge mess ensued, and I realized they were going to fall apart on the grill. So I called Conservative Boy into the kitchen to warn him about the dangers of grilling the main dish.

Um, why didn't you just cut a slit in the side of the breast and stuff them that way? Conservative Boy said. Oh shoot. I hate it when he's right. I guess all that Food Network watching he used to do paid off.

Needless to say, he successfully grilled them anyway. The recipe was good but I don't think I'd put on any "best of" list, even if I wouldn't of screwed things up. The grilled red potatoes tossed with onions (both from the farmer's market) and garlic turned out swell too. But it's hard to mess potatoes up.

Then there were the green beans. I started with a pound fresh from the farmer's market and cooked them with a clove of garlic. Then, while they were cooking, I chopped up some sweet red pepper and tossed it with lots of fresh basil and mint (both from a pot in the front yard), olive oil, salt, and pepper. Once the beans were crisp-tender, I tossed it all together. And got this:

Conservative Boy took one bite of these beans and scooped his serving onto my plate. Beans are his arch nemesis. (One of many, actually.) If green beans stopped existing altogether I don't think he'd mind. It's sad. Because these beans were good. Really good. Even reheated, which I can vouch for because I'm eating some right now.

OK. Now it's time for dessert. I bought some beautiful wild blackberries at the farmer's market:


But they were a bit bitter for just eatin'. So I decided it was a good excuse to make some petite fruit tarts. I made the crust first and let it refrigerate while we ate the aforementioned meal. Then I tossed together the fruit (I threw in some farmer's market blueberries and a few strawberries that were in the fridge too) with a bunch of sugar. After I loaded the little crusts up with as much of the filling as I could manage and folded up the sides just so, they looked like this:


And I began praying to the cooking gods to keep those crusts up, because I had a feeling they weren't going to stay where they were.


I guess I didn't pray hard enough.

The good thing is, even if they didn't look too pretty, they still tasted pretty darn good. Should you not be deterred by the goofy little tarts you see above and decide to try the recipe yourself, I'd actually recommend letting them cool off completely before eating. I ate one this morning for a late-morning snack straight from the fridge and it was much better cold.

So there you have it. Nothing worthy of Martha Stewart or Emeril. But no failures to the extent that we couldn't eat. And that's a good day's cooking work for me.

Still, you know what I need? Some cooking classes. Anyone know where I can find some good ones in central Illinois?

(... And Conservative Boy starts crying. But when are you going to have time for me? he whimpers. And so I take him aside and gently remind him that he will benefit from my cooking classes too. But that doesn't satisfy him and probably won't until dinner's actually on the table after said cooking classes. Oh well. He'll get over it.)