This is the story. I was planning to make Chicken Salad for dinner (we love this recipe). I boiled some chicken as the kids were eating lunch, turned off the stove, let it cool a bit, then stuck it in the fridge.
Enter dinner prep time. I chopped up the apples and tossed them into the mixing bowl. Next was the chicken--I plopped it on the cutting board and chopped it up. My first few slices I checked the middle for doneness (yeah--shoulda done that before I turned off the stove hours earlier), and thought, "Uhhh...," *pokepokescrutinizepoke* "Yeah, I think it's okay... ...." Right on top of the apples it went.
Dinner prep proceeded as usual--I chopped some walnuts up all quick-like and tossed them on the stove to toast, all while nagging Cambrie to continue cleaning her room, cleaning up the pile of raisins James just dumped on the floor, and feeling my blood pressure rise as Owen started fussing from the swing.
About this time I realized I forgot the onions. Reaching into the back of the fridge I knocked over a princess cup full of milk that someone had saved for later (without letting Mommy know). Now there was milk in nearly every nook and cranny, Owen was fussing louder, and James was using every bit of little-boy-strength he had to climb into the milk-soaked fridge and grab anything he could reach. (But mostly cheese. Okay, always cheese.)
In a furious whirlwind of motherhood, I became, well, to put it politely, irate; I shut the boy in his bedroom, immediately feeling guilty but needing him away from the fridge. Realizing the walnuts were about to burn, I tossed them straight from the pan onto the chicken in the bowl and started wiping up the fridge. In between removing the entire bottom shelf and thanking Cambrie dutifully for her help-mommy-feel-better-song ("We don't need to be aaaaaan-gryyyyyy, we are all haaaaaaa-ppyyyyyyy!!"), I turned back to the bowl of unfinished chicken salad, trying to remember what on earth I was supposed to be doing to it next.
It is at this point that I notice a slight pink tint on some of the chicken pieces. My blood pressure started rising again. Not the best timing.
One quick google search later ("is chicken cooked all the way if it is flaky but still a little pink?"), I was still uncertain. Feeling a hefty degree of irritation, I decided that I should probably not risk a night of throwing up just for the sake of my sanity. So what should I do next? I really didn't want to throw all that chicken away.
In a moment of desperation, I tossed the entire bowl back in the saucepan and cranked up the heat. Without thinking at all (it's hard to think with the screams and made-up songs of children filling the kitchen), I tossed some chicken broth in, too. Maybe I thought it'd help it steam better. I don't know. All I know is now I have this on my stove:
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| Don't worry. I called and told Patrick if he wanted dinner he'd have to bring it home himself. Mmmm takeout. |
SO HERE IS MY QUESTION:
I have a pan full of chopped chicken, apples, and walnuts, all saute'ed nicely in some chicken broth. After I'd given up on life (er, um, this dinner), I threw in some celery and added a bit of salt. (I don't know why. Nothing food-related seems to matter anymore. It's kind of liberating, actually...)
HOW ON EARTH DO I MAKE THIS EDIBLE?
If I were to make this into a dinner for tomorrow, WHAT DO I DO?? Try to salvage a chicken salad but with cooked apples? Turn it into some sort of stuffing? How would I do that? A soup? An apple walnut soup? (Doesn't sound like it'd work, but stranger things have happened.)
I'm open to any suggestions. The goal: salvage this food and not have to throw out a pound and a half of chicken. I want to turn this disaster into a gosh-darn palatable dish!! *fist-pump-of-determination*
Okay. You have your directive. Comments and suggestions below, please. Aaaaaaand GO! :-D
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