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My chicken is waving, “Hi, guys!”

I picked up a chicken the other day for a reasonable price. Whenever I go to a grocery store, I have to put things back that are too expensive and pivot. 

I never made a spatchcock chicken on the bbq grill before, so this was my chance. I looked up several recipes and found one to try.

I watched a quick YouTube video on how to spatchcock a chicken. It was much easier than I thought it would be. 

I laid the chicken on a cooking rack on a sheet pan. I salted it and put it into the refrigerator, uncovered for 24 hours. This ensures a crispy skin on the chicken.

The next day, I made the dry rub suggested in the recipe and rubbed it all over the chicken. Next, I inserted a bbq meat thermometer probe.

Marty built the fire since I can’t breathe in any smoke anymore. When it was ready, he put the spatchcocked chicken on the grill.

The recipe said to pull the chicken off the grill at precisely 165 degrees, then let it rest. It specifically said not to grill longer than the correct temperature.

I carved the chicken and was pretty pleased with its appearance on the pan. It was very juicy and moist.

Marty made smashed potatoes on the flattop grill, which were so good! I made a broccoli salad, which is our favorite.

The chicken was moist af, but that stupid ass rub ruined the skin. It turned bitter as hell. So bitter we had to peel the skin off.

When this happens when I follow someone’s recipe exactly (which doesn’t happen often for this very reason), and it turns out bad, I want to hunt this person down. 

The chicken had a slightly smoky taste and was delicious, minus the gross skin situation. 

Marty’s magical potatoes.

The meal was well-balanced and super tasty. The potatoes? They were my favorite! 

They were crispy on the outside and like fluffy mashed potatoes inside. I used to make these in the oven, but now they are Marty’s job since he does them so well.

Potatoes have always been my favorite ever since I can remember. It made a lot of sense When I learned I am 74% Irish. Since I was a kid, I have loved baked, roasted, boiled, scalloped, au gratin, and french fries.

A couple of days later, on another rainy and gloomy day. I took the leftover chicken off the bone and made the best chicken and biscuits; ever!  I make the same chicken, gravy, and veggies when I make pot pies too.

When I was teaching myself how to cook, I used the original Betty Crocker recipe in my mother’s cookbook that she got as a shower gift. I think she made a valiant effort to learn to cook as a newlywed, but that didn’t last long because she hated cooking and the clean-up.

Now, when I make chicken with gravy and veggies, I use fresh vegetables and sauté them first to build flavor, plus lots of fresh herbs and seasonings to make it my own. Having delicious chicken is also a must.

I served the chicken with biscuits on the side and buttered Trader Joe’s gluten-free fresh fettuccine.

My chicken and biscuits were good before, but this? Holy shit, it was over-the-top delicious. What made the difference was the slight smoke on the chicken.

It was a game-changer! I’ve always used leftover roasted chicken, but not anymore. Plus, the chicken cooked in half the time spatchcocked on the grill. 

What will I change the next time I make spatchcocked chicken? No rub! I’ll do everything the same, except seasoning the chicken with kosher salt & pepper. 

You can spatchcock a chicken and roast it in the oven, which I will do in the wintertime to save time and get crispy skin, not just on top of the chicken.

I can end by telling you this: I will never roast a whole chicken the traditional way again. Period.

An all-male brigade of chefs.

I have been stewing about a situation that happened more than a week ago when Marty and I were making deliveries. I am a tough cookie, but sometimes something will leave me speechless and shocked. Here’s what happened. 

While delivering to the local restaurants, we bumped into the new French chef who is now at the helm of one of them. We were wearing our spätzle t-shirts, which we call the “company uniform.”

The new French chef greeted Marty, giving him a pat on the back. The two met several times. When Marty introduced him to me, he barely acknowledged me.

He spoke directly to Marty and acted as though I wasn’t there. As I quickly figured out, this French chef behaved like a typical French male chef I only heard about or saw on tv cooking shows.

The chef bragged about making his own spätzle but said it’s not gluten-free like ours. Then he said it would not be on the menu regularly, only if it went with something like the coq au vin, which was a special on the menu that night. 

We are fine with that; good chefs change their menu weekly or nightly. I can’t understand how some restaurants never change their menu; for 15 or 20 years! By the way, I am not talking about a famous establishment or family-owned business.

I bit my tongue because this is one of our wholesale customers. I wanted to tell him big shit, pal, you can make your own spätzle. Learning to make spätzle is the first thing they teach you in culinary classes.

I didn’t tell him I made my own for 20 years before I spent seven years developing the only gluten-free spätzle in the world.

He was using MY spätzle with his coq au vin, but he automatically thought Marty was the spätzle maker and dragged his wife along with him for company. I actually wanted to go to meet him since I heard good things about his food. We know how that worked out, don’t we?

While we were standing outside the walk-in, I could feel my temper boil as he stood beside me, speaking to Marty as if I wasn’t there. When we left, he said goodbye to Marty, and I said politely, “It was nice to meet you, chef.” 

I put my hand out to shake his hand, he had to take it, and I gave him my best death squeeze of a handshake. His poor hand, smooth as a baby’s ass, felt like a limp fish in my hand. Yuck! I thought for sure he would’ve had a power grip with that ego.

When we got outside, I went on a rant. Marty agreed what happened was typical in the kitchens of fine dining establishments. I ranted and raved while we went up the mountain to our next customer.

Now I know how it feels when I’ve seen women chefs on tv and in food articles talk about how hard it is and how badly they are treated in the kitchens run by male chefs. It goes way beyond, yes, chef; heard chef. You have to have some tough skin to take it.

Currently, only 25.2% of women chefs and line cooks work in the restaurant industry in our country. Less than 7% of U.S. restaurants are led by women.

That 7% of women are badasses who have to work harder and longer, find childcare, and support other upcoming female chefs. Female chefs of color with different ethnicities are lower in the part of that 7% figure.

I could go on forever writing about famous women chefs in history, but instead, here is a link titled The Triumph of Women Chefs. These women chefs paved the way for generations of female chefs.

Chef Julia Child was larger than life in the kitchen and on tv. I always wondered where she was putting things or getting things below her. The tables are turned on the set of The French Chef; this is my favorite photo showing behind the scenes, literally.

All week, I thought about that French chef who made me so furious. How dare he assume it was Marty’s recipe and business!  I don’t care who this chef trained under, where he worked, and he is friends with some world-famous chefs; rude is rude. Period.

I told Marty he could make the deliveries to that place since I have zero respect for the chef. The question is, can he cook? Of course, he can, he is brilliant in the kitchen, and everyone says the food is incredible. I expected it would be.

I wonder how many women working in his kitchens over the years went home feeling like shit after getting their asses handed to them every night, or better yet, how many got promoted to high-level positions?

Now that I’ve written about that eye-opening experience, I can let it go; but I will say this, “Va te faire foutre” chef, which means fuck you, chef. Please, pardon my French! 😂

When I was a little girl, I spent a lot of time with my grandmothers, Mema & Nana. I had some favorite items at both of their places.

I only have four items from Nana, her deviled egg plate, a set of Santa and Mrs. Klaus salt and pepper shakers, and a round three-compartment relish tray.

I was a young teen when Nana went to live with my Aunt Claire in Houston, Texas. My grandmother went blind when I was around 6; it was amazing how long she was able to stay in her own home until she needed more assistance.

My mother wasn’t nice to Nana, just like she wasn’t to me. She made a big deal whenever she had to take Nana somewhere or do anything for her. I hated how my mother treated Nana. It was painful to watch as a kid.

Aunt Claire, my mother’s sister, flew in and hired an estate company to take care of the furniture and other items. I remember how heartbroken and upset Nana was.

She referred to that day as “the day they broke up my home.” It made me sad, but she couldn’t live alone anymore. My mother didn’t lift a finger to help Aunt Claire; she was whistling dixie because she didn’t have to do things for Nana anymore.

Whenever Nana would talk about the day they broke up her home, I quietly would cry, not wanting her to hear me; I felt so bad for her. It would be much better to live with Aunt Claire, who wanted to care for her; my mother was nothing like her sister. Ya, think?

Mema’s house was a fun house to visit. She had lots of things I loved! As a young adult, I would visit Mema by myself. When Noah and Sam were little, we always visited Mema on our NJ trips.

She always played with me because she wanted to, and we had so much fun together when I was little. She always played with Noah when we would visit; he remembers her, which I am grateful for. Sam was little, so I don’t think he remembers her.

One day before Marty and I got married, I visited Mema; I was still living in Jersey then. She told me to look around and take whatever I wanted to have. One of those items was her veggie bowl.

I loved it because it looked like someone painted it by hand, not a machine. I use that bowl a lot now that I have a huge pantry and can find anything I want easily on a shelf.

Our small veggie garden finally started growing once we had a few days in a row without rain. The tomatoes seemed to turn red in one day. I’ve been picking and using them as soon as they ripen.

I went outside yesterday, picked some ripe tomatoes, and put them in my Mema’s bowl. I feel like a part of them is with me smiling when I use their things in my kitchen. I am sure they probably are. Those are the items that keep me connected to them.

I used all the tomatoes tonight by making a caprese salad and a pasta dish with chopped tomatoes, basil, and Italian parsley from our garden, garlic, olive oil, crushed red pepper, and kosher salt topped with grated Romano cheese. The gluten-free penne SUCKED! I had to use it since we had no spatzle on hand.

I’ve been making this dish for over 25 years, especially in the summer when all the ingredients are in season and abundant. It tasted like how I always make it; too bad the pasta sucked ass.

I love that nostalgic feeling when using one of my grandmother’s things. It makes me feel like a child again whenever I see them; I get a soft smile on my face. It’s like getting a hug from them.

I talk to Mema & Nana and tell them what I am making. I always thank them, then I cry a little until I can see them in my mind’s eye waving their hands at me, gesturing, “Oh, stop it.”

I’ve been saying I could eat spaghetti with tomato sauce every day ever since I was a little kid; I still say so; that’s how much I love it.

Italian food has always been my favorite cuisine, with Chinese food coming in a close second. Living in NJ with some of the best places was always a hard toss-up.

Then I grew up. It wasn’t until my 30s I realized there are so many other ethnic cuisines I have grown to love as much as my childhood favorites. 

Why did it take me so long to discover these other cuisines that I love to eat and can make pretty damn good? Have I mastered them? Fuck no, and far from it. There is always room for improvement in everything you do, especially in cooking.

I grew up in a blue-collar neighborhood, in a blue-collar city, with blue-collar parents. They were not adventurous when it came to eating. They liked to eat out but stuck to “American” food, Italian and Chinese food. Period.

American food has different dishes and flavors from regions across our country. For example, soul food, Creole, Texas bbq, Southwestern, Californian, Midwestern, Yankee, and East Coast seafood, to name some major ones.

Regional dishes came from where the people lived, what was available corn or wheat, for example, and what vegetables did well in their climate, such as peaches or pumpkins. Those influences created the most delicious food that is still popular today.

The same is true for every other place in the world and its regional cuisines; using what types of vegetables, proteins, and starches were available created the ethnic food we Americans are familiar with today.

Since America is the world’s melting pot, we are now lucky enough to have ethnic cuisine all over our country. Not here in Vermont, the food desert of the county when it comes down to it quite simply. Good thing Albany, NY, is only an hour away.

These different ethnic cuisines were a welcome change for our boring tastebuds growing up during the Betty Crocker era when everyone ate meatloaf, roasted chicken, and casseroles. All delicious, not exciting.

Do I have a new favorite ethnic cuisine? Yes, I have two, Thai and Indian. As I mentioned, with a lot of practice, I do an excellent job with those cuisines for a white girl.

People who want to try an ethnic recipe expect restaurant results in their home kitchens when using American ingredients and cookware; these things matter more than you realize. 

My Chinese cuisine now tastes authentic because my old wok is finally seasoned to the point it needs to be for that restaurant flavor. I also learned a lot by trying over and over again until I was finally happy with the results. This took years btw.

I like to go to the Asian supermarket for my ethnic ingredients such as curry pastes, noodles, spices, and a shit ton of other items. I go once or twice a year and stock up. You can now find many of these items at co-ops and specialty stores but at specialty store prices. 

In Asian cuisine, like Thai food, all the ingredients have a purpose to keep a dish in balance. Ingredients such as fresh lime juice, brown or palm sure, and fish sauce are essential; without them, the dish wouldn’t have that Thai taste profile and umami; they also balance the dish.

I have used the term balancing out a dish often in the blog. When you are cooking, you want your dish to be balanced, or it will taste like something is missing.

Here’s a perfect explanation from a blog called Otao Kitchen. 

“If a flavour balances another flavour, it means it counteracts it to achieve an even, harmonious taste. For example, spice balances sweet and sweet balances spice. It’s why Mexican hot chocolate is finished with a pinch of cayenne pepper, the spice works with the sweet to produce a more dynamic flavour.”

Here is a link to Stir Crazy Cooking School if you would like to learn more about balancing out flavors.

Now onto this blog post’s topic (how I tell stories drives Marty crazy. It comes from my Irish roots.) Here is a dirty little secret. I love yellow curry noodles so much that I always have them on hand. Taste of Thai has small boxes of noodle dishes such as red and yellow curry noodles, spicy Szechuan, pad thai, and peanut noodles for quick lunches. 

I’ve been on a yellow curry noodles kick for the last week. I ate two boxes of Taste of Thai yellow curry, which is still insufficient. I needed to make a pot of my own.

I was out of yellow curry paste, so I picked up a can the other day while making deliveries. I always have the other ingredients on hand.

I made a pot of yellow curry noodles this morning for breakfast. I love making and eating shit like this for breakfast. Marty loves this for lunch but not so much for breakfast.

Marty has been away since last night since he is vending at The Vermont Cheesemakers Festival, which is almost 3 hours away, so it was a perfect time for me to indulge in my yellow noodle obsession. 

There are plenty of recipes for all kinds of yellow curry dishes; however, only a few with just noodles. I took the Thai cooking knowledge that I had learned and made my version. If you go to the Stir Crazy Cooking School link above, they provide a few recipes.

Now I have to admit, mine was so much better than the stuff in the box by a million, but those are perfect for a simple time-crunch lunch. 

Now for the slurping part of the post. I was constantly yelled at for slurping my spaghetti noodles when I was a kid. I would tell my parents it tasted better that way, and my mother would tell me to knock it off, so I did.

My parents were correct when teaching me table manners here in America, where slurping noodles is impolite, uncouth, and rude. It’s that way throughout Europe and many other countries.

In many Asian countries, slurping noodles with chopsticks is appropriate; it’s a way of life for them, and also showing your compliments to the chef or cook. 

And guess what? Studies have proved that slurping your noodles DOES make food taste better by breathing in and using your sense of smell. Ha! I knew that at 6 or 7 years old! How do you like those apples? 

When my yellow curry noodles were ready, I plated them up in a large bowl. I got a pair of chopsticks and an Asian soup spoon to get every bit of that yellow curry sauce at the end.

I began picking up the noodles with my chopsticks and slurped away, making various noises. It turned out to be my best batch yet. I was delighted and content.

I made enough to have more for dinner or every time I walk by the pot. That’s how it goes when I am on a food kick. I can’t do it when Marty is around so much, but I can go noodle crazy today!

Have I eaten anything else? Of course, I have; I made gravy fries with ketchup—another one of my favorite things to eat.

Enjoy the rest of your Sunday, guys. 😉

Everything in this photo has a blueish tint to it from the patio umbrella on the deck.

I woke up Sunday morning feeling creative, something I hadn’t felt for a long time. I wanted to make something with leftover asparagus in the fridge.

I knew exactly what I was going to make…Poached eggs over chopped asparagus and bacon topped with hollandaise sauce and chopped tarragon.

It’s not every morning, especially for the last few months, that I spring out of bed to make one of the French mother sauces. 

Hollandaise sauce isn’t something for timid cooks; it takes a little practice. I’ve mastered it and don’t think twice when I want to make it anymore.

Hollandaise sauce is very rich and is made with egg yolks, butter, lemon juice, salt & pepper. I make a tiny batch since it’s just the two of us. 

Today, I added a pinch of curry powder to the hollandaise sauce, which gave it a little more flavor and color.

We try to stick to the idea that the key to healthy eating is having everything in moderation. We had a small amount of hollandaise sauce spooned over our poached eggs.

Speaking of poached eggs, I love them. They are a bit of a pain in the ass to make, so I don’t make them often. Poached eggs took me a long time to master. I usually make soft-boiled eggs when I don’t feel like making fussy food.

For the rare times, we eat breakfast out, I order poached eggs. I can practically hear the breakfast cook saying, “Oh, Fuck! What asshole ordered the poached eggs?”

It slows things down in a busy small kitchen, unlike large brunch establishments that pre-make large amounts of poached eggs and gently reheat them when ordered.

I saw on a tv show that Bobby Flay spent two summers working at a hotel restaurant, and all he did was pre-cook poached eggs. Poached eggs aren’t the easiest suckers to pull off, either.

First, there must be vinegar in the water. Next, each egg should be carefully broken into its dish. No, you can’t do it the lazy way of breaking the eggs directly into the water; you can if you want broken yolks.

When the water comes to a simmer, you whirl the water with a slotted spoon around like a cyclone and carefully pour each egg cup into the water. Then you hold your breath and pray.

The vinegar in the water helps the egg whites stay together with the egg, but there will usually be some stringy egg whites floating around, which happened on Sunday morning.

When I pulled them out of the boiling water after they floated, I always dab the eggs on a towel with a slotted spoon, then carefully get rid of the strings before plating. 

Do you have to do this? Hell no, if you don’t care what they look like. However, I am a perfectionist cook in the kitchen and simply have to.

See how poached eggs are a pain ass? Swears are floating around the universe from cooks worldwide cursing their asses off when an egg breaks in the water, and there are still plenty from me while I was learning sunny side up and over easy eggs.

Eggs are hard to perfect. Did you know many chefs on employment interviews have to make eggs because it shows what kind of chef they are?

Just before I pulled the eggs out of the water, I had a perfect hollandaise sauce until I forgot about it for a few seconds while I was plating, and my damn sauce broke. I think I only said quietly shit, shit, shit.

Instead of totally freaking out and throwing the whole thing away like I used to, I fixed it. Since I learned that kitchen hack, it has saved many kinds of sauces. I’ve learned to tame my temper over the years when things like this happen and pivot to fix it.

To fix a broken sauce, you add a little bit of hot water and whisk the hell out of it until the sauce comes back together. 

The sauce came back together but was thin. I didn’t have time to cook it further since I had perfectly cooked poached eggs that were getting cold; I plated the sauce as it was.

 As Julia Child said, never apologize for a dish you messed up. Marty didn’t notice the hollandaise was on the thin side, or he would have told me. 😂

All that aside, I whipped up a delicious Sunday morning breakfast served with a multigrain gluten-free multigrain toast to dip in the yolks and sauce. I love dippy eggs! Everything is a weird color in the photo from the patio umbrella. Note to self.

I can tell I am starting not to feel as depressed as I have been since January. I started making cooking videos for our spätzle page and my Julzie Style one on Instagram. I am getting better at it.

I finally figured out how to video with a tripod to make demo videos. I added music and effects to the kinds of reels like I see on Instagram. I did a slow-motion reel and a cooking demo with a voice-over, I was scared to do the voice-over with my deep Jersey voice, but it came out pretty good.

This year I have had no interest in doing anything like that for our Instagram pages; now, I am a reel-making maniac! You can check out the reels on Instagram @vtspatzle or @julziestyle or The Vermont Spätzle Company on Facebook.

Please share a post you like or tell a friend who may like my writing style, never knowing what I’ll post next. Hell, I don’t have a clue until I sit in front of the keyboard on my laptop most days. Thanks, guys! 😊

While we are working in the production kitchen, I spend a lot of time thinking about food. What’s new, right?

I had the ingredients to make the summer lunch of my dreams, which only tastes this good when fruits and vegetables are in season.

We both love caprese salad, which is fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, basil leaves, olive oil, and salt & pepper. We don’t have any red tomatoes yet, but I can’t wait to use our own!

I saw an updated version of this salad with a twist; ripe peaches! Holy shit, that sounded delicious. 

I made it on Sunday afternoon as a snack for Marty and me. I drizzled it with a balsamic reduction found in stores, even in ALDIs.

Today, I made that version of caprese salad again, putting on thinly toasted baguette slices that I rubbed with garlic. 

Next, I made prosciutto with melon, which was finished with salt and pepper. The combination of sweet and salty is a classic.

I rounded out our lunch with a protein, 6-minute eggs. They came out perfectly since I’ve been working on getting them right.

I topped the eggs with salt, pepper, and baby chives I cut from my garden. They taste like a soft-boiled egg, with the yokes not as runny.

Marty returned from running product to our distributor, Wilcox Ice Cream, and was excited about our lunch when he saw what I made.

It was perfect on a hot and humid day which was ruined by smoke in the air again, which made us eat indoors.

The lunch? It was sweet, salty, and creamy, with a touch of acid from the balsamic reduction drizzle. It was filling and delicious. We could eat this every day in all kinds of variations.

That’s it from here with a short and sweet post; I wonder what I will make tomorrow? 🤔