Solo Spontaneity

So many meals, so little time to write about them. Actually, I have plenty of time—I’m simply choosing to use it to write about other things. But I had a fun adventure in the kitchen this weekend, and I’m pretty pleased with results. And with myself, for my creativity and efficiency. For once.

I had most of a roasted chicken left over and had to figure out what to do with it, so I faked my way through the creation of a chicken pot pie. After consulting several favorite cookbooks—my vintage 1970s Betty Crocker, plus Joy of Cooking and The Red Lion Inn Cookbook—I decided to take inspiration from all and specifics from none. First, I pulled most of the meat from the chicken bones and put the bones and skin (with a couple of garlic cloves) in a big pot of water to make stock. Then I chopped a medium onion, a couple of stalks of celery and two fat carrots, along with a couple of garlic cloves. I sautéed these in a couple of tablespoons of oil (half peanut and half olive, for those keeping score) and tossed in some dried tarragon and thyme. When the veggies were lightly browned, I poured in a little bit of white wine (half a cup, maybe) and let that cook in. I chopped up the leftover chicken and threw that in, then I added some water (3/4 cup), covered the pan, reduced the heat and let it all steam together. Next, I made a thin white sauce (one tablespoon each of butter and flour, a dash of salt, 3/4 cup of low-fat milk and 1/4 cup of chicken stock) and poured that over the chicken-and-veggies combo. I dumped everything into a casserole dish, topped with the dough for seven whole-wheat buttermilk biscuits, and baked the whole thing for about a half-hour.

The meal was delicious. The sad part is that I invited a couple of friends to join me, at the last minute, but they were either too tired or too busy to come over. So now my leftover chicken is simply in a different form. (But I’ll be able to freeze individual portions and have them ready to go.)

This is the downside of spontaneity, I’m finding. I love both the freedom and the unanticipated pleasures of spontaneous gatherings. Especially that freedom part—by nature, I love to have plenty of unscheduled time; I tend to get cranky if my calendar gets too heavily booked. (Just ask my friends.) But I recognize the limits of leaving everything to whim and serendipity. Often, by the time I know that I can commit to having a meal ready for company at a specific time, it’s too late to have anyone else spontaneously join me.

In an ideal world (for me, anyway), my friends would always be available when I’m in the mood to be sociable—and they would leave me alone when I’m not. (And I wouldn’t have to explain either mood.) Is that asking so much?

Apparently. (Whinge, whinge. Deep sigh. Squaring shoulders and moving on.)