Socially Awkward Chicken Thighs with Mustard and Melted Zucchini
it’s all about the crispy skin, the mustard, and what to say next
things you’ll need: chicken thighs, onions, zucchini, shallot, lemon (because always) Dijon or other interesting mustard, oil, salt, pepper, paprika, whatever else feels good (corn, tomatoes, lentils, mushrooms, or something), and perhaps of cheat sheet of things to talk about in case you forgot how to conversate.
inspired by the idea of Deviled Chicken Thighs from Mark Bittman on NYT Cooking and then Crispy Chicken Thighs over Melted Zucchini from Ann Taylor Pittman on Food & Wine
incidentally gluten-free, the zucchini concept, on its own, would be delicious with mushrooms and lentils for something more vegetarian/vegan, just don’t forget the Dijon.
Chapter 136
You’ve lived inside a pod with defined edges for so long that opening it up feels quite strange. If you Google “we're all socially awkward now”, you will get 36,600,000 results that all agree. We are.
40ish% of humans in the US have received at least one shot of their vaccine and spring marches itself towards summer (with the occasional petulant snowfall), which means that more socializing is on the horizon. Which is fine. Maybe great, in some cases. There are a lot of people that you have not seen that you want to see (and some that really want to see you, regardless of how you feel about it).
We are going to have to be quite forgiving of each other for a while. It’s pretty easy to fall out of touch with people in normal times, but this past year has been difficult in maintaining everything, let alone other relationships. When you do see other people again, you hope they will forgive you for falling out of reach. It’s hard to shake off the worry that those friendships are lost in the wreckage of the year.
Certainly, you are changed by the past year+. It’s likely that you don’t know to what extent you have been altered by all these new normals and that’s true for your friends too. It’s going to be strange for a while. You won’t know where to sit or what to do with your hands and will, likely, naturally stand 6 feet apart out of habit. In a group of vaccinated folk, it’s ok to feel a bit of panic when they hand you things or wander next to you in order to taste whatever is on the stove.
Maybe all this awkward inter-pod mixing is what inspired you to take two different ideas and smash them together. Or maybe you just have too much zucchini, again, and are tired of coming up with new ways to make the same chicken thighs. Or, perhaps, you just wanted something to act as a vehicle for Dijon mustard.
For whatever reason, you have awkwardly adapted two ideas and come up with a solution that involves slathering the meat side of your chicken thighs with a mixture of Dijon mustard (mostly), lemon, shallots, and paprika (or cayenne if you’re spicy) and leaving it to marinate for at least 4 hours.
While you awkwardly slice zucchini into lovely ribbons (a technique you mastered with your Zucchini and Ricotta Rolls) or whatever thin slice shape you choose, practice niceties and make a mental list of acceptable answers to the question “how have you been?” that are honest, but not a complete narrative of the full mental health roller coaster ride that you have been on.
Sprinkle salt all over the ribbons and let them sit on towels or in a colander to drain while you slice up an onion and try to remember all of the things that have happened this year. If you start to cry, it’s probably just the onions. Preheat the oven to 350-400, blow your nose, and wash your hands.
You have pretty much mastered the cold pan technique for the crispiest skin, now that you have cooked roughly 20,672 pounds of chicken thighs (because they are cheap, abundant, and pretty hard to fuck up). Take your chicken out of the fridge, pat dry the skin side, season simply with salt and pepper, and let it come to room temperature.
In a cold, evenly oiled pan, place the chicken skin-side down and then turn up the flame to medium/high. This allows the chicken skins to cook to a crisp, stops them from seizing up and shrinking, and also renders the fat slowly.
Once the skins are a deep and rich toasty brown, flip them over and cook on the meat side for a few minutes, just to brown. Remove the chicken and set it aside.
See all that schmaltzy goodness rendered from the thighs? Toss your onions in that glorious chickeny gold and cook until wilted or all the way browned (depending on how sharp or sweet you like your onions), deglazing as needed. Next, grab those sweaty zucchini strips and squeeze them out as much as you want/can. Toss the less wet zucchini with the onions and give it a taste.
The rendered chicken magic and zucchini wilting process will have imparted some salt and seasoning already, so it’s important to taste before adding anything more. But, now that you have tasted it, toss in another teaspoon-Tablespoon of mustard, whatever salt or spice you deem worthy, perhaps another squeeze of lemon (or wine?), and some hot pepper (if you like it like that).
Nestle the chicken thighs back into the bed of zucchini/onion and pop it all in the oven until the chicken is cooked through.
Serve with wild rice and awkward conversation. By the time your plates are clean, you won’t have to try so hard to think of what to say next and it might, just maybe, feel something close to normal.
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