OK - first, the item I bought "to do something with" was a rotisserie chicken from, well it doesn't matter where I bought it. It was my usual place to "pick up a rotisserie chicken".
Right > I'm home with my chicken, it's unavoidably my night to put a meal on the table.
I rummage through the refrigerator and freezer thinking I should probably remove the June Film Forum schedule from the fridge door. A plan is beginning to take shape as I peruse the foil and plastic wrapped inhabitants of the big cold box. Yes, this task of science and foraging requires a glass of wine. So be it, so it is done.
Back to the task at hand. As a masked vote of confidence, which in reality I know to be a growl of hunger, comes from the living-room I peck and pull and smell and affirm a group of usable food stuffs.
One more taste of wine and I'm off to the races. Undoubtably, my most artist venture of the day...
I pull and shread the chicken onto a plate for some sort of use, that at this point I'm not sure of what form, what use it will be put to. I taste the chicken, not so much for quality control, but at this point I'm getting hungry. I taste a bit more chicken and consciencely have to hold myself back from picking my way through an entire chicken dinner that will necessitate my having to sleep in the garage, if you get my drift. This would be particularly uncomfortable, as I don't have a garage.
OK, I've got a plate of tender, moist, well seasoned "pulled" and "shreaded" chicken. Next, almost without thought, with the speed and directness of lightening. I pull out this and that, and oh yes that for sure. No not that, I didn't like that yesterday, or the day before.
I place a "board" of frozen Sullivan Street (not Grandaisy's - which is definatly Sullivan St. no longer) pizza bianco into the microwave for 23 seconds. Next, the most difficult part of the preparation, except for stopping picking at the bird, I slice through the ultra thin flat bread, making sure not to lose any of the random lenghts of rosemary. I congradulate myself on a job well done by licking the olive oil off my fingers.
"Do you need any help in there". Another coded message came billowing from the living-room. I didn't need a code book to translate that to something along the lines of; what the f--k are you doing in there! I'm starving here.
Right, I place the split loaf in the oven for toasting (very important I feel although at this point I'm not really sure why). 350 degrees for about 3 or so mins. Remember, the bread which began as ulta thin is now, half the thickness of ultra thin. The edges go deep amber, golden.
I now add a layer of transparently thin sliced raw red onions and the few remaining pieces of roasted red peppers I'd found in a colbalt blue bowl, (how'd I miss those 2 days ago) over which I lay slices of yeterday's Caputo's smoked mozzarella. This goes under the broiler for about a 45 seconds. Or until the cheese is rapidly bubbling to become a brownish, carmelized (I always wanted to used that word, carmelized - maybe I'll get a cooking show now) molton crust. Out from under the broiler. Lookin' good!
I top the left side of the loaf, or was it the right, with the chicken as the heat from the cheese rises to heat the bird, bringing its moisture to just off the spit juicyness. A sprinkle of salt and pepper. A light brushing of RUB Bar B Que sauce (god knows how long that's been there). A top hat of the spicy crisped chicken skin and voila! The big fold and sliced into 6 diagonal sections. The point of each the prime bite.
A mountain of leftover Charles's (Southern Kitchen) "eggy"potatoe salad on the side and... hum, no wine left, a choice of Coke, Brooklyn Lagar or ICoECC (Incase of Emergency Celebratory Champagne).
"My assembalage was pretty damn good on the spur of the moment wouldn't you say honey."
"What's for desert?"
"Um... um - you my dear, the sweetest desert of all"
What's the best quick & easy dinner you've put together out of leftovers and 1 freshly bought item you made...
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