Chicken Taco Soup

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.

Spicy Thai Coconut Soup with Shrimp

When I was in grade school, one of my closest friends was Thai. I don't remember the story about how her parents met, but I vaguely remember there being cheeseburgers involved. Her mom was from Thailand and her dad was American. My friend was exotic looking, but having grown up in Southern Oregon, she was just a typical small-town girl.

I remember going to her house after school when we were in the fourth or fifth grade. She lived close enough to our elementary school that we could walk--this always impressed me, as my house was a good ten miles outside of town and you couldn't walk anywhere. Walking home, we'd pass a little corner store. Sometimes, we'd pop in and wander through the isles, loose change burning a hole in our pockets. Rarely, though, would we buy anything. Because we knew what was waiting for us at her house.

We would usually sprint the last block to her house, and explode through the front door. Our backpacks (Jansports, with the straps as loose as they would go, of course) would get flung onto the dining room table and we'd scurry into the sunroom (another novel concept for me). We'd scramble onto the overstuffed floral print couch, and on the wicker coffee table, waiting for us, would be an assortment of cookies and two huge glasses of whole milk. I've never been a fan of milk, so my glass always went largely untouched... but you can bet I did a number on those cookies!

Everything in this house tasted exotic to me. Even the air had a different tang to it--like it had traveled with my friend's mom, all the way from Thailand, and was somehow spicier than our boring old Oregon air. Plain chocolate chip cookies somehow oozed with even more chocolately goodness. Lemon cookies forced my lips to purse together in a pucker so tight it almost hurt--but hurt in a delicious way. Oatmeal, which I usually detested, was creamy and smooth, the raisins and nuts a burst of flavor and an added texture that complimented the unfamiliar spice that the cookies had. It was as if everything had the underlying sweetness of coconut, and the surprising zing of an unknown pepper.

Even though my foodie forays into Thai cuisine never broke past cookies, the occasional bowl of sticky rice and spicy pork and veggies, all things Thai bring me right back to that sunroom and an overflowing plate of cookies. I've since lost touch with this friend, but I do wonder if my house was as intoxicating to her as hers was to me. I wonder if the dinners of Hamburger Helper or snacks of cottage cheese and crackers were as flavorful and complex as the meals we shared at her house.

When I tried this recipe, the flavors and smells it created took me right back to these memories. It was like an instant teleport, back in time, to that house with those people. The spices that lingered in the air in my sixth grade memory permeated my own house, as I mimicked many of the flavors I remembered, even if only by smell, from my childhood visits.

Spicy Thai Coconut Soup with Shrimp

adapted from allrecipes.com

• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
• 2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger
• 1 stalk lemon grass, minced
• 2 teaspoons red curry paste
• 4 cups chicken broth
• 3 tablespoons fish sauce
• 1 tablespoon brown sugar
• 3 (13.5 ounce) cans coconut milk
• 1/2 pound fresh shiitake mushrooms, sliced
• 1 pound medium shrimp - peeled and deveined
• 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
• sea salt to taste
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro 

1. Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat. Cook and stir the ginger, lemongrass, and curry paste in the heated oil for 1 minute. 
2. Slowly pour the chicken broth over the mixture, stirring continually. 
3. Stir in the fish sauce and brown sugar; simmer for 15 minutes. 
4. Stir in the coconut milk and mushrooms; cook and stir until the mushrooms are soft, about 5 minutes. 
5. Add the shrimp; cook until no longer translucent about 5 minutes. Stir in the lime juice; season with salt; garnish with cilantro.