Cooking Lessons

I learned to cook when I was a kid in Texas.  I was a ten-year-old fourth grader when I was called into action by my Dad.  Being a recently divorced father of four children, with full custody of the oldest three, of which I was the foremost, he needed a willing and somewhat able assistant to help with the prep and clean-up while preparing meals.  Luckily for us both, I was eager to learn these first rudimentary culinary skills.  After all, cooking led to eating which was already my number one favorite thing.

Standing at my father’s side, we would first thoroughly read the ingredient list and would set up what I know now is a mise en place.  I was in charge of running back and forth to the pantry and refrigerator, gathering the ingredients and measuring them properly so that they would be readily at hand when called for.  It was much like preparing for a medical procedure, and since my father was a physician, it was a natural extension of his workplace milieu.  The cooking itself was performed by him, but I would diligently watch every step, stir, sift, slice, sauté, sizzle, so forth and so on, until the final product was proudly presented for consumption.

These cooking lessons occurred mostly on the weekends and an occasional weeknight when Mrs. Davis wasn’t caring for us. 

When my parents divorced, my father hired a live-in woman to help with the cooking, cleaning and caretaking of his broken family.  Mrs. Davis was a single, older, west Texas lady in her mid-fifties who, during the week, slept in the back bedroom, down the hall from the kitchen.  On the weekends, she stayed with her grown son and his family.  Her hair was gray, and she wore glasses, and she had a great love of Hank Williams, but thought John Denver was a no talent hippie.  I remember riding in her car on a bright, hot summer day in Arlington, Texas, where we lived, listening to Hank Williams’ twang, 

When you are sad and lonely and have no place to go

Call me up, sweet baby, and bring along some dough

And we’ll go Honky Tonkin’, Honky Tonkin’

Honky Tonkin’, Honey Baby

We’ll go Honky Tonkin’ ‘round this town

Mrs. Davis was a simple, Southern Baptist kind of woman, and her cooking skills were even less sophisticated.  Consequently, we were introduced to two regular friends of hers, Mrs. Swanson and Mr. Hamburger Helper.  Now, I have never been known to be a picky eater.  I can wolf down a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese with the best of them, which come to think of it, may be the result of this early exposure to pre-packaged meals, the greatest of which my pre-pubescent palate considered to be Swanson’s Chicken a la King in a can.  Mrs. Davis would open it up, heat it in a saucepan on the stove top, and serve it over toast.  Simple and satisfying.  

Several weeks ago, I thought it would be fun to pick a random cookbook out of my extensive collection and peruse through it to find a recipe for dinner. I asked my fiancé to chose the book and he picked one of his own that I had never used before, and in it I came across a recipe for Chicken a la King.  Maybe it was because of the long lockdowns and pandemic panic of the past year that I had such a visceral urge to revisit the creamy, comforting chicken dish of my youth, but, whatever the reason, I bought the ingredients and made it.

For me, that evening, sautéing the mushrooms and green pepper, and stirring the sherry into the homemade cream sauce became acts of reparation and thankfulness.  Thankfulness for the memory of a time, almost fifty years ago, that my father taught me a skill for which I have carried a lifelong love, and for a woman who cared for three little, mostly motherless souls and comforted them the best she knew how.

Who says nothing good ever comes out of a can? 

Chicken a la King

1 5 lb. chicken

2 ribs celery, coarsely chopped

2 carrots, coarsely chopped

1 medium onion, cut in 4 pieces

1 clove garlic, crushed 

1 bay leaf

2 whole cloves

10 peppercorns, crushed

8 TBP butter, divided

6 TBP flour

1 ½ tsp salt

1 ½ cup heavy cream

1 ½ cup chicken stock 

1 TBP sherry

2 egg yolks, room temperature, slightly beaten

1 green pepper, cut in ¾ inch pieces

8 oz of sliced pimentos, drained

20 medium mushroom caps, cut in half

Chopped parsley

Directions

1. In a large stock pot, place the whole chicken, celery, onion, carrots, garlic, herbs and spices.  Add enough water to cover.  Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer for approximately 2 ½ hours, leaving lid ajar.
2. Remove the chicken and place it on a large tray to cool at room temperature.  Strain the stock and reserve it.
3. Sauté the mushrooms and green pepper in 2 TBP of butter, over medium low heat until mushrooms are slightly browned.  Set aside.
4. Prepare the cream sauce by melting 6 TBP of butter in a large saucepan, stir in the flour and salt and whisk for one minute.  Slowly add the 1 ½ cups of reserved stock and bring to a boil.  Turn down the heat and stir in the cream.  Bring to a simmer while stirring.  Remove from the heat.  Beat the egg yolks in a small bowl, then spoon in a few tablespoons of cream sauce into the bowl to temper the yolks.  Add the yolks to the cream sauce, along with the sherry.  Stir to combine.
5. Remove the meat from the chicken, cut into bite sized pieces and add to cream sauce.
6. Stir in mushrooms, green pepper and pimento.  (You can also stir in some cooked frozen peas, its optional.)
7. Season to taste with salt and white pepper.  If the sauce seems too thick add some more reserved chicken stock.
8. Serve over toast, rice or biscuits.  Sprinkle with chopped parsley.