That Girl Plays Susie Homemaker.

UPDATE:
BCR8iv--
Just another reason I *should" get a Mac! Taking pics, too. How cool would a Photobooth post be once a week?

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So does your bank do a recipe inside of the paper money holder they hand you?

I am pretty sure the bank must get a cut of the local grocery store's profits, because whenever I get my little paper money holder with the recipe in it, I act like I have turned into a combination of Emeril, Rachael Ray, and Martha Stewart. All of a sudden I think I am a gourmet chef and I.must.get.to.the.market where I will be strangely random ingredients I will use one time every, oh, twelve years or so, and create a feast that very few people will appreciate. All of a sudden I have blown a lot of said money on trying to become the classy lady with the apron and pearls who can make dog food look appetizing. The same feeling occurs when they turn me loose on this site.

There are other blogs where the ladies take sweet photos of their creative cuisine and can go ahead and tell you that everyone within a fifty-mile radius enjoyed the fruits of their labor, and I know those nice ladies are more able to be trusted with a culinary roll of the dice.

Bloggerotsky, I have no excuse. Frankly, I am not even sure if I could fit a camera into my Polly Pocket-sized kitchen.

I wish I was that cool. But you come here for That Girl. When you go to blogs from great cooks, you are looking for pure food amazingness. When you come here, you are looking to feel acceptance. Acceptance that you are not, in fact, Giada de Laurentiis, you can't make those wretched mozzarella sticks that she said were soooo easy and everyone in your friend group at college still makes fun of you to this day about stinking up the house with burned cheesesticks and you may not have the gift of hospitality and furthermore, you find yourself wondering how can you trust a skinny Italian.

Not that I'm like that at all.

Regardless, you are accepted here. Just like Jimmy Needham says, "Child, you are forgiven and loved." Especially for that one time you saw Giada after she had her baby and wondered if she had a special camera that took away ten pounds.

Whatever you need to get to sleep.



Mostly I am giving you this recipe for one reason. I am trying to keep Francesca the Ford Focus waaay more decluttered than Darla the Daewoo was (God rest her mighty soul). In that pursuit, I realized that I had been hanging on to a money holder because it had the ultra deluxe recipe in it. Now I have yet to have a recipe box because of the aforementioned Polly Pocket-sized kitchen. I kept hanging onto it with the hope of getting the gusto to sit down and copy it out on an index card.
If I do that, where do I put the index card? The rest of the apartment is just as Polly Pocket as the kitchen, so the realization for me was I will end up throwing the recipe card away on one of my crazy cleaning binges.*


Instead, I have decided to blog it in case I ever get The Hankering for a lovely dinner involving what my BBF Jami and I call "Boar-beque" in her secret language.


Here it is.

I need a catchy title so once you look at the recipe, why don't you try to come up with a good one? The winner will get...uh...the thrill of victory just like on the Wide World of Sports. And a blog shout-out.

I know, my prizes are great too! Too bad I don't have any Polly Pockets to give. Should have kept that one that embedded itself into my foot when I was babysitting K,H, and E.

Without further ado:

______________________________ or Barbecued Chicken Salad Sandwiches

1 1/2 lbs skinless, boneless chicken breast halves
Barbecue sauce (I prefer this kind)

1 c. mayonnaise (don't use that miracle whip. Do us a favor-bring out the hellman's this time and bring out the best!)
1/2 c. finely chopped onion (I so hate it when they use words like 'finely chopped' because I am easily overwhelmed with the mounting pressure)
1/2 c. chopped celery (good. so glad I don't have to finely chop two things)
1/4 t. salt
1/4 t. crushed red pepper flakes ( if you are like me in your lack of a spice rack, you can substitute cayenne, just use a little less...)
8 tomato slices
8 lettuce leaves



Put the uncooked chicken in a Ziploc with some barbecue. Shake it silly until the BBQ coats the chicky and let it sit overnight. Grill the chicky, covered, over medium-hot heat for 6-8 minutes or until the juices run clear (starting to get overwhelmed again--how do I knw when it's medium-hot heat?). Cool, cover, and refrigerate chicky until chilled. Then chop the chicky.


(Confession: I don't have a grill (Ha! Where would I put one??). So I will boil that fowl and shred it. Then I will place it in the fridge until it's chilled. I will place it in a Ziploc and coat with BBQ by shaking it silly. Don't add too much BBQ if you are doing it grill-less because later we will still add some mayo and you don't want it to get too saucy. Because then it would really be a That Girl special.)


Hey! This is kind of like those Choose Your Own Adventure books that Sethy loved as a kiddo.
Whether you choose the regular recipe or the I-don't-have-a-grill-version, a key part of this meal is that once you put the chicky in the Ziploc with the BBQ, you better SEAL the bag before you shake it silly. Otherwise you could have a That Girl Moment-sized mess on your hands and all over your respective Polly Pocket kitchen.
Also, a note on shaking it silly: the more you shake, the more cals you burn which means you might work off enough to have seconds.

Either way you go, the sandwich wraps up like this:

Place the chicky in a bowl. Stir in the mayo, onion (finely chopped), celery, salt, and pepper flakes. Serve on rolls with tomato and lettuce. I recommend that cute ciabatta bread or silver-dollar buns if you got a bunch of Hungry Hankerers to feed. And as far as I am concerned, NO BBQ meal is complete without a few AWESOME dill pickles over the top of it.
Hope you enjoy and don't forget to name this recipe.

I'm off to put that money holder in the trash can now.





*you should really come dumpster-diving in the OC after one of those cleaning times.