The Journey to Enlightenment

AKA: Chicken Tikka Masala

It began not with my first taste of Indian food as ironically I had frequented a local Taste of India celebration, but never had I tried Tikka Masala. It wasn’t till my now ex girlfriend Renee ordered in Indian food for our first of many “Indian Take Out and a Movie” nights. To her I owe this dish, and I owe my culinary enlightenment.

They call it a gravy which to a boy who grew up with Thanksgiving turkey seems ridiculous. If Tikka Masala were poured from a gravy boat, I would insist on gold. At the same time, I’ve been overheard more than once stating that I would drink it from a glass on it’s own, so really the method of delivery is moot. Before today I had made two lone attempts to create Tikka Masala, and before today I was a student of these savory flavors. But the day has passed, and now I feel I am ready to teach.

You’re going to need a beer, like so many of my other recipes, well no… you’re going to need two. And while you’re grabbing that, here’s the rest of the list:

1 beer for drinking
1 beer for marinating
1 package of Flatbread or Pitas
1 lb boneless chicken breast
3 cups broccoli florets
1 cup long grain rice
1 can diced tomatoes
1 white onion
1 cup heavy cream
2 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp molasses
2 tbsp Chicken Masala
1 tbsp butter
1 tsp Red Curry
Salt
Pepper

First cut the chicken breasts into pieces no larger than 1 inch square, throw them into a bowl and pour in your marinating beer. Let them sit for at least 15 minutes. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Spray some olive oil or cooking spray on to a cookie sheet. Remove the chicken from the beer and place the pieces onto the sheet, try to space them out enough to cook thoroughly. Now throw them in the oven for 15 minutes.

While they are cooking, put a 12 inch skillet on medium heat with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and a tablespoon of butter. Dice the white onion and throw it into the skillet. Let them sweat for a bit, flipping and adding salt and fresh ground pepper to flavor. Once the onions have taken a slight bit of color, add the entire can of diced tomatoes, juice and all. Allow to cook for 2-3 minutes stirring as needed. Shake in red curry to your spice level, for me about a teaspoon is perfect. Add 2 tablespoons of chicken masala to the skillet and mix. Now slowly add the cup of heavy cream, stir while adding.

At this point take the skillet off the heat and let it sit for a minute before adding it to a blender. Blend till the tomatoes are fully incorporated into the gravy. Pour the gravy back into your skillet and reduce the heat to it’s lowest setting. Now stir in the molasses and add the broccoli florets. Cover and let simmer. It should be just about time to take the chicken out of the oven. Once the chicken is done, remove all pieces from the sheet and add them to the gravy. Cover and allow to simmer on low. Put your rice in a rice cooker, and once the rice is done (about 10 minutes) the broccoli should be tender. Combine rice with chicken, broccoli, and gravy and devour.

Wait! Now that you’ve tried the Masala, you’ve found that you need something to soak up that remaining gravy. For this, grab a pita or flatbread of some kind, toast it in the oven or give it a quick grill on the stove, cut into four pieces and you have your final gravy scooping tool. Grab that beer, and enjoy your enlightenment.

Pessimist’s Destiny

Pessimist’s Destiny
If I stole a yoyo and learned to walk the dog
Harry, the dog, he'd wind up licking my palm.
I'd steal him that bike from ET's girl, Drew Barrymore,
Harry'd be my shotgun, hop in the bucket, flowers and all.

Didn't like her then, why'd we like her now all Smashley Simpson
with her roller coaster barrel roll hydrogen bomb hair.
Just cause she makes waffle homes and sings Beach Boys poems,
please, love ain't that fair.

We'd round the world, Harry and I, a man and his best friend.
Like a flying saucer planet hop grind and whip hip hit and jammer
till the pinwheel drops and daisies flop down the staircase,
or would we take the elevator instead…

Our suicide catch a freehand meltdown diving kamikaze into hell.
And in the end, I'd start the fire, screw this pacifist piss.
Zipper up tower down watch the world burn to the ground,
devour those last moments in Armageddon's lips.