Quinoa and Asperagus Chicken

It's official--Pinterest has taken over my life. I resisted for so long, convinced that I'd find myself pinning for hours and accomplishing nothing. While the former part of that statement is totally true, I've actually found some incredible recipe resources through Pinterest.

I rarely follow a recipe to a T, I'm always able to find solid inspiriation in the posts from other Pinners. It's always a great chance for me to try lots of different adaptations and find stuff that works. Plus, finding quick and easy recipes has been a godsend during this busy school year.

This recipe, for creamy quinoa, chicken and asperagus has become a weekly rotation on our dinner menu. It's easy, delicious AND you can make it ahead of time.

Quinoa and Asperagus Chicken

• 4-6 chicken breasts, depending on size
• 1 bunch of asperagus, trimmed
• 2 cups quinoa, cooked
• 1 can cream of mushroom soup
• 1/2 onion, diced
• 1 cup mushrooms, diced
• 1/4 milk
• salt and pepper
• 1/4 cup parmesan cheese

1. Spray a 9x13 baking dish with cooking spray. Spread the cooked quinoa on the bottom of the dish.

2. Make a layer of asperagus on top of the quinoa.

3. Wisk together soup, milk and vegetables. Pour of half of the mixture over the asperagus.

4. Salt and pepper the chicken breasts and place them on top of the asperagus.

5. Pour the rest of the soup mixture on top.

6. Sprinkle with cheese.

7. Bake at 375 for 30 minutes or until chicken is cooked through.

Stuffed Shells

When I was younger, I wanted more than anything in the world to have an older brother. There was a boy who lived down the street, who was about a year older than I was, and he was so cool--never mind that I found out later he was moderately down syndrome. He was funny, good at video games, and most importantly, a lego architect genius. My older male cousins, too, were some of the coolest people I knew (granted, my world was pretty limited at five years old). I looked up to Steven and Kevin with adoration and respect, and not just because they each had about a decade and at least a foot on me.

My oldest cousin, Steve, would never hesitate to get down on all fours with us and play dog catcher. My cousins and I would clamor around my aunt's house, yipping and nipping at the adults' ankles, and Steve would go right along with our silly game and chase us, put us in the "pound" and make our little fantasy seem totally legitimate and real... I mean, haven't you ever seen a puppy that sports light up LA Gear, embroidered sweatpants and a lovely lady mullet? (I have my mother to thank for my stellar fashion choices in the mid to late eighties.)

Steve's younger brother, Kevin, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with us younger cousins... Which is perhaps why we got so much pleasure out of tormenting him. He had, arguably, cooler toys than Steve (I'd venture a guess that Steve was probably beyond the "toy" phase by the time our gaggle of toddler and adolescent aged cousins came around)--transformers, legos, a miniature suit of armor... All the kinds of things that three to seven year olds really needed to be playing with. We would "sneak" up on Kevin while he was playing computer games and hiding out in the office of my aunt's house, where he instantly retreated the second we showed up for a visit. Deep down, I'm convinced he actually enjoyed our visits. I mean, who wouldn't want a bunch of squealing, pig tailed blondes invading their personal space for days on end?

My understanding of boys, brothers and where babies come from was rather limited when I was a kid. When my mom was pregnant with my younger sister, I remember people asking if I wanted a little brother or sister... What was wrong with these people? Did they not see the splendor that could be made possible by having an older brother? Someone to reach things off of high shelves? Someone to swing me around? Someone to keep the bigger cousins from picking on me (until my sister came along, I was the youngest, and easiest target)? It would have been phenomenal.

I prayed to Jesus, the Easter Bunny, Barbie and just about any holy entity I could think of as a kid. Please, please, please... Someone bring me an older brother... I'll never ask for dessert again! (Fat chance, I was a tub of lard from day one.) I'll always clean my room when asked! (Or throw a tantrum until my nanny, DeeDee, does it for me.) I'll be the best little sister anyone could ever ask for! (Clearly, I had no idea what I was asking for.)

Spoiler alert: I never got an older brother. Biology (and other branches of science, I imagine) kept that from becoming a reality for me. But you can imagine my disappointment when, at three and a half, after nine months of praying and good behavior, I was rewarded with a shiny, pink, YOUNGER SISTER. Could the Easter Bunny have gotten this MORE WRONG? There was clearly some sort of cosmic injustice happening. Maybe the kid down the street had asked for a baby sister? That was clearly not what I had requested.

I eventually got over my disappointment, although I made sure my little sister, Shannon, knew that she was NOT what I had had in mind. I did this by kicking her in the head through the mesh of her play pen, pinching her when no one was looking and essentially inflicting all sorts of torment on her. Granted, she probably deserved some of it---showing up as I was growing out of my chubby, adorable phase (and just being chubby), and giving everyone something new and cute to coddle. What a brat. A big brother never would have pulled that shit. And I bet he would have stolen cookies off the high shelf for me.

Regardless, I eventually grew to appreciate my younger sister. Having someone to beat up on and outsmart was actually rather convenient. And as we got older, we developed a strong friendship. Now, as adults, I consider Shannon one of my best friends. It took me moving out of the house and 1,000 miles away, but we get along, respect and rely on each other. We're in the same corner these days, instead of opposite ones. And really, I've come to accept the fact that a big brother is just not in the cards for this girl.... But if you know anyone with an older brother for sale? Hook it up! There are some cookies on a shelf I can't quite reach.

One of my coworkers recently (as in, like, on Saturday) had her second baby. A girl. Her oldest is a little boy. Is it normal to be phenomenally jealous of an infant? She is set for life! Not only does she have awesomely cool parents, but an older brother to boot! Life... just isn't fair.

And while my knowledge of babies and biology is really limited, I do know that infants are loud and time consuming. And generally messy, annoying blobs of human. So, in order to help my friend out (and ensure that she doesn't forget to feed the older brother, lest someone else be robbed of their dream), I put together some easy freezer meals that are both delicious and (I think) kid-friendly. Kids eat green things, right?

Stuffed Shells

adapted from Taste of Home

24 uncooked pasta shells (jumbo)
1 T olive oil
1 large zucchini, shredded and squeezed dry
1/2 lb. baby portobellos, chopped
1 medium red onion, finely chopped
2 cups ricotta cheese
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup shredded provolone cheese
1/2 cup grated romano cheese
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 t. italian seasoning
1 jar (24 oz) pasta sauce
1/4 grated parmesan cheese

1. Preheat the oven to 350. Cook shells according to package directions until al dente. Drain and cool.

2. Heat oil in large skillet. Add veggies and cook until tender. Remove from heat and transfer to a large bowl. Add ricotta, mozzarella, provolone and Romano cheeses. Stir in egg and seasoning.

3. Spread one cup sauce into the bottom of a 13x9 baking dish, coated with cooking spray. Spoon cheese and vegetable mixture into shells. Place filled shells in baking dish. Top with remaining sauce. Sprinkle parmesan cheese over the top.

4. Bake, unconvered, for 40 minutes. Let stand for 10 minutes before serving.

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.

Low Maintenance Meal

Year 5, day 1 is on the books.

And I survived.

Sans one toe nail.

Yesterday was the America's Finest City Half Marathon. Wondering why you haven't heard much out of me lately? Aside from traveling all over the country for different journalism and leadership camps, I've also been running my tail off. And melting. Because it's been damn hot here.

Because of all of my traveling, and that whole pesky starting the school year business, I wasn't in nearly the shape I wanted to be in for this race. But it's ok. I finished. I didn't beat my Safari Park time, but I was in range. Even with the extreme heat, steep uphill mile 12 and lack of training, I felt ok about my finish. I know that if I had been able to train the way I really wanted to, I would have done better. But it is what it is. Better next time around!

But I have officially "made it" as a runner. They say it is a rite of passage. A badge of honor. A medal of merit.

I have lost a toe nail to a race. It's gross, and rather unpleasant to look at, but it has happened. And I limped my way through the first day of school in my super cute outfit, with my super cute shoes... and now I am home and I can't wait to melt into the couch.

Unfortunately, someone has to cook dinner. Looking around, I don't see anyone volunteering, and the cat doesn't have thumbs... So it looks like it's going to be this girl. Let's make this easy...
 

Mediterranean Chicken Pasta

There are no pictures of this because 1) I'm too tired and 2) it was too delicious.

 

1 lb. pasta
1 T olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 c chopped red onion
3-4 boneless chicken breasts, cut into bite sized pieces
1 can artichoke hearts (drained, chopped)
1 large tomato, chopped
1/2 c feta cheese
3 T chopped parsley
2 T lemon juice

1. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Cook pasta in boiling water for 8 to 10 minutes. Drain and rinse with cold water.
2. Meanwhile, heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add garlic and onion, and saute for 2 minutes. Stir in the chicken. Cook, stirring occasionally, until chicken is no longer pink and the juices run clear, about 5 to 6 minutes.
3. Reduce heat to medium-low, and add the artichoke hearts, tomato, feta cheese, parsley, lemon juice, oregano and cooked pasta. Stir until heated through, about 2 to 3 minutes. Remove from heat, season to taste with salt and pepper.

Black Bean & Rice Enchiladas

Taking care of people is just what I do. For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to help other people feel good. I wanted to be able to contribute, positively, to the world around me in ways that made other people smile.

When I was younger, I volunteered at a local zoo. I spent my summer days working with animals and educating the public about animal conservation. I am probably in millions of family photos, holding some sort of exotic animal, grinning like an idiot with a total stranger's kids. I've also been peed on, bitten by and shat on by more endangered species that you can name.

When I got into high school, I started coaching kids' volleyball. My best friend and I took two teams under our wings, with mixed results. One undefeated season, and one lack luster. But we have scores of girls (who are now graduating from high school!!!!) that we helped fall in love with a game that we were passionate about. We even hosted a sleepover--complete with makeovers!

When I went away to college, I got involved as a resident adviser and I helped coach a local speech and debate team. I never really realized it, but I was constantly looking for ways to make other people feel important, special, needed, at home and valued. I loved cooking for my residents. I reveled in the rousing conversations I would have with my speech team, about everything from college to fights with their friends and parents. I was as excited as they were when they won awards for their performances.

Despite all this, my maternal instincts, over all, are lacking. Babies give me the heebie jeebies. Small children make me really nervous. The thought of changing diapers, buying baby clothes... being responsible for another life... Terrify me. And all of my friends seem to be launching into this stage in their lives (or they've been there for a while and facebook has just recently let me know this).

I feel like everyone around me is getting married, having babies and growing up. And I'm not going to lie, it's freaking me out just a little. I am SO not at that place in my life yet. But you know what? I'm ok with it. Just don't ask me to babysit.

But you know what I CAN do? Make delicious, easy to freeze, meals for you when you've got a bun in the oven. One of my colleagues just had a baby (like, this morning! Happy birthday, Matthew James!), and last week I took the time to prepare some dinners for her family so that feeding her husband, her two year old and herself didn't send her over the edge.

Black Bean & Rice Enchiladas

• 1 green pepper, chopped
• 1 medium red onion, diced
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 (15 ounce) can black beans, rinsed and drained
• 1 (14.5 ounce) can diced tomatoes 
• 1 small can green chiles
• 1/4 cup green enchilada sauce
• 1 tablespoon chili powder
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
• 2 cups cooked brown rice (I cooked this in my rice cooker with 1/4 of enchilada sauce/water)
• 8 flour tortillas, warmed
• 1 cup salsa
• 1 cup reduced fat shredded Cheddar cheese
• 3 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro leaves
• 1 sliced avocado

1. In a large skillet, saute the green pepper, onion and garlic in oil until tender. Add the beans, tomatoes, enchilada sauce, chili powder, cumin and red pepper flakes; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, until heated through and mixture thickens. Add rice; cook 5 minutes longer or until heated through. 
2. Lightly spread a thin layer of enchilada sauce on the bottom of a baking dish.
3. Spoon the mixture down the center of each tortilla. Fold sides over filling and roll up. Place in the coated dish. Spoon salsa and any left over rice mixture over each tortilla. Cover and bake at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes. Uncover; sprinkle with cheese and cilantro. Bake 10 minutes longer or until cheese is melted. 
4. Top with sliced avocado and serve! 
5. Or, you can cover with foil and freeze. Simply add about 45 minutes to your cooking time if you are cooking them from frozen.

Ricotta Stuffed Chicken Parm

School is back in full swing.

I am in denial.

Where did my summer go?

Oh wait... I spent it in the UCSD library and holed up in my sauna of a home office... and at yearbook camp. That's right. Hmph!

With school comes a lot of things... Both good and bad, of course. Early mornings. Fun days with kids. Polka dot dresses. Grown up shoes that pinch my toes.

As I get busier at school, I have less time/energy/motivation to take on complicated (but always delicious) dinner recipes. What does this mean? It means quick and easy meals that still stack up to my standards.

Try this. Immediately. You won't be sorry.

Ricotta Stuffed Chicken Parmesan

adapted from Baking Serendipity

So good you might cry a little when you devour it. 

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded thin
1 cup ricotta cheese
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese, divided
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese

1 tbsp milk
1 tbsp dried basil

1 tbsp italian seasoning

1 tsp salt

2 cloves garlic, minced

1/4 cup red onion, diced
1 egg white
1 cup Italian style breadcrumbs
olive oil, to coat the pan
1 jar pasta sauce

1. Get out a little aggression. Pound out the chicken breasts until they are flat and thin. Set aside.

2. In a small bowl, combine the ricotta, 1/4 cup mozzarella, parmesan, milk, onion, garlic, basil, italian seasoning and salt. 

3. Spoon the ricotta mixture into the middle of the flattened breast. Fold up the sides and secure with toothpicks. Three picks does the trick nicely. 

4. Put the egg white in a shallow bowl. Spread the bread crumbs onto a plate.

5. Dip each breast first in the white, then roll in the bread crumbs to coat. 

6. Coat the bottom of a frying pan with oil. 

7. Cook each side of the breast in the pan over medium heat until the breadcrumbs begin to brown.

8. Lightly spray a baking dish with cooking spray and place each browned breast in the dish.

9. Spoon pasta sauce over each of the breasts (you won't need the whole jar). Sprinkle with cheese. Spoon any remaining ricotta ontop of the breasts and sauce.

10. Bake in 375 degree oven for 35-40 minutes, until the chicken is no longer pink in the middle. 

So easy. So delicious. Go ahead, thank me.