After being gone for about ten days, and knowing that I only had a few precious days at home before my next stint of traveling, I had an overwhelming urge, from the minute I walked in my front door (at 11 PM, mind you) to BAKE ALL THE THINGS. COOK ALL THE THINGS. I just wanted to revel in the glory that was my kitchen, food readily available and of my choosing. Not a hotel catering service. Not a dining hall. Not Easy Mac, stirred with a car key and eaten with a dorm swipe card.
Before I left, I had embarked on a breakfast adventure--treating my boyfriend to delicious, boozy cinnamon rolls, baked from scratch and topped with a gooey, cream cheese and bourbon frosting. I'd even had the foresight to freeze half the batch and leave him baking instructions, so he could make them on his own without me (obviously, this was a ploy to keep him from getting upset about me taking off for nearly two weeks). This confectionary masterpiece became dubbed as "special breakfast," and it precluded my desire to COOK ALL THE THINGS. You don't get the recipe for that... But it's an important part of this story. That's why I'm telling you. That, and I'm a little bit of a tease.
In another attempt to keep my boyfriend from hating me, my job, my commitments to camps around the country and my inability to say no to a teaching offer, I left presents. Presents and notes. For each day I was gone. Yes, its nauseatingly adorable and you're throwing up in your mouth a little. It's ok. I would be making gagging faces at myself right now, if I weren't so head over heels in love with this boy. There is some adage that says something about having to have survived the worst to be able to appreciate the best. I've written off my past as an experience I needed to have. A painful, challenging, horrendous learning experience. And now? Now I know that I have something good--someone who cares about me, appreciates my ambition, supports my decisions and balances me. Proof:
Special breakfast was reciprocated. After being gone for what felt like forever, my first morning back home consisted of french toast (from REAL french bread), mimosas and absolutely no work on my part. Watching my boyfriend feverishly stir cinnamon into cold milk, visibly frustrated that it wouldn't dissolve, scrolling through his recipe on his iPad... I melted a little. He was willing to step in to my realm, try his hand at something that I love doing, just to make me feel special. And while I have known for some time that this boy was special, there was definite confirmation that morning. I felt lucky. Content. Happy. And it was ok that, other than a quick trip to the store, we spent the entire day doing nothing. It's not my MO, but it felt good. I could revel in a day of laziness, because I wasn't going to have to pick up the slack later by myself.
I have gotten used to taking care of myself. I have needed to know that I can fix things, do things, manage things on my own. But in the past few months, I've slowly gotten comfortable NOT having to do them on my own. My boyfriend may not be an expert on fixing sprinklers, but we figured it out together. He may not be super jazzed to mount my TV or fix a loose hinge, but he'll do it. He may not love to cook, but he'll get up and make me breakfast because he knows I'm exhausted and worn out from traveling. He'll do things not because he wants to, not because he gets anything out of it, not because he has some ulterior motive... He just wants to make me happy. And that makes me the luckiest girl in the whole world (insert gagging noises here).
And in return, I want to do everything, be everything, bake, cook and clean everything, embody everything that perfect should be. I know what it feels like to be unappreciated, and I want to make sure that I never make another person feel that way. I can't help but have some guilt about my summer spent jumping around from one camp in one city to the next. Being gone for a total of almost an entire month doesn't seem like a thing you do for someone you really care about. So naturally, when I am home, I want to DO ALL THE THINGS that I can to demonstrate my appreciation.
I've always considered my kitchen abilities to be something of a gift. I just have a knack for throwing things together that work. Which is surprising, because I don't understand any of the science behind it and I often screw up the math. But it still works (further proof that math and science are unnecessary). And as someone with an overwhelming need to help others (hence for years as an RA), putting my gift to work and feeding people is a natural outlet for me. So when we started talking about dinner ideas, after Special Breakfast #2, I knew that this recipe would be a winner. First, it has beer in it. I mean, who doesn't want beer with their dinner? Second, it all goes in a slow cooker... So I could spend the whole day finishing our two bottles of champagne and orange juice, while dinner cooked itself.
Chicken Taco Soup
- 1 red onion, diced
- 1 (16 oz) can chili beans, drained
- 1 (16 oz) can black beans, drained
- 1 (16 oz) can corn, drained
- 1 (8 oz) can tomato sauce
- 1 (12 oz) bottle of beer
- 1 (10 oz) can diced tomatoes with green chiles
- 1 packet taco seasoning
- 3 whole boneless, skinless chicken breasts
- 1 jalapeño, diced
- 1 red bell pepper, diced
- 1 green bell pepper, diced
- 1 t cayenne
- 1 t garlic salt
- 1 T minced garlic
- 1/2 cup chicken stock
- 1/4 cup cilantro
1. Place all ingredients in a slow cooker, except for the chicken. Stir well.
2. Submerge the chicken breasts in the other ingredients (make sure they are covered).
3. Set slow cooker for low heat and cook for 5 hours.
4. Remove chicken breasts about four hours in. Shred. Return to soup for one more hour.
5. Serve with sliced avocado, crushed tortilla chips and queso fresco.
