Month: September 2017

My husband comes from a family of excellent cooks. Every family gathering means a feast of just about every food imaginable, but one of my favorite occasions they host each year is Halloween. Matt’s grandparents throw a party, and his grandmother cooks up enough cashew chicken to feed a crowd. I asked for the recipe years ago and was surprised at how simple it really is. So without further ado, here is the perfect cashew chicken!

The first step is to find a cook.

Don’t hate him because he’s beautiful. Hate him because he loves the Pats.

The directions suggest marinating chicken breasts in soy sauce, but ain’t nobody got time for that. So Matt combines steps by adding soy sauce and salt and pepper to two eggs.

Whisk the mixture and add your chicken. We like to use chicken tenderloins cut into bites with kitchen shears. Add the chicken to a bag of flour and corn starch and any seasonings you may like – this time he just used salt and pepper, but he often will add garlic salt and paprika. Shake to coat.  (Shake and bake, baby).

While the oil heats, he likes to make the cashew sauce. Bring chicken bouillon, sugar,  oyster sauce, and water to a boil.

In a small bowl, mix corn starch with cold water. When smooth, add a bit to the cashew mixture. Cook until it reaches desired thickness.

Cool a bite of the sauce. Taste. Make frowny faces. Declare it good.

Fry the chicken with your preferred method. We are currently using vegetable oil, but I have also used shortening. He cooked these on high heat for about 7 minutes.

Side note: The Food Network taught us to buy one bunch of green onions and to place the bulbs in a jar of water. Voila, you’ll always have green onions growing, and so we do.

When the chicken is fried, serve with rice, green onions, and cashews.

Here’s the actual recipe:

Enjoy!

 

I started eliminating all kinds of unneeded items in my home earlier this year, and I’m still investing time in that process. Yesterday, I was sorting through a stack of forgotten papers and found something I wanted to share. I’m not sure where this paper came from (I recall it first surfacing by falling out of a hand-me-down book that went out of print in the ’80s) or the author, but this writing from a fellow mother of three resonated with me. It also brought back memories of hearing my husband’s grandfather telling him he couldn’t choose a favorite, but if he could, he would choose Matt. Matt didn’t realize until adulthood that Grandpa told every grandchild the same. 

I’ve Loved You Best, Because…

Dear First Born,

I’ve always loved you best because you were our first miracle. You were the genesis of a marriage and the fulfillment of young love. You sustained us through the hamburger years, the first apartment (furnished in early poverty), our first mode of transportation (the “Junker”), and the 7-inch tv we paid on for 36 months.

You were new, had un-used grandparents, and enough clothes for a set of triplets. You were the original model for a mom and a dad who were trying to work the bugs out. You got the strained lamb, the open safety pins and three-hour naps.

You were the beginning.

Dear Middle Child,

I’ve always loved you best because you drew a tough spot in the family and it made you stronger for it. You cried less, had more patience, wore faded hand-me-downs, and never in your life did anything first. But it only made you more special.

You were the one we relaxed with and realized a dog could kiss you and you wouldn’t get sick. You could cross a street by yourself long before you were old enough to get married. And you helped us understand the world wouldn’t collapse if you went to bed with dirty feet.

You were the child of our busy, ambitious years. Without you, we never could have survived the job changes and the tedium and routine that is marriage.

To The Baby,

I’ve always loved you best because while endings are generally sad, you are such a joy. You readily accepted the milk-stained bibs, the lower bunk, the cracked baseball bat, the baby book that had nothing written in it except a recipe for graham cracker pie crust that someone had jammed between the pages.

You are the one we hold on to so tightly. You are the link with our past, a reason for tomorrow. You darken our hair, quicken our steps, square our shoulders, restore our vision, and give us a sense of humor that security, maturity, and durability can’t provide.

When your hairline takes on the shape of Lake Huron and your own children tower over you, you will still be our baby.

-A Mother