Unnecessary Humble Pie / Chicken & Leek Pie

A few weeks ago, I wrote a recipe for roasted garlic and pumpkin pie. In the comments, a woman whose blog I really enjoy wrote that she would like to make the pie, once she’d converted the ingredients from grams to cups.

I’m not sure what happened to me then. I definitely felt excitement that a blogger I admired was commenting, I’m aware that my ego’s been feeling a little fragile recently with some meditative work I’ve been doing, and my attention had wandered that day from keeping me mindfully right sized. But whatever the reason, I responded with a lengthy and unasked for piece of advice about why she should never use cups in her baking because grams were so clearly superior.

I had evidence (I’m pretty practised at backing up inappropriate behaviour with all sorts of good scientific proof — just read my piece on fundamentalism), and was wily enough to riff off a small joke at my own expense at the end. Like that would somehow undo the damage I was causing with my words.

Even before I hit the ‘respond’ button I had a feeling that this action wasn’t okay, that I should pause in my doubt and take some time. But, in my distracted state, the voice that usually stays my hand wasn’t there and I clicked my potential for humility away.

I initially wrote this piece humorously, and invented a conversation with a friend to try to make me seem more amused by the whole scenario than I actually am. But the reality, if I’m not mindfully careful, is that I stew over situations like these, where I could have chosen to step on the side of good living but instead I tumble into who I don’t want to be. My thinking can rapidly transgress far beyond the story that’s actually happening and tell me I’m no good, unloveable, idiotic. Everything becomes additional evidence of my ineptitude to survive in contact with others, and therefore proof that I should avoid everyone forever.

Once upon a time, I would have welcomed these thoughts as some sort of therapeutic exercise. This one small, foolish act could have been the beginning of a self-absorbed self-loathing enterprise designed purely to think about myself more, while deludedly telling myself that it wasn’t self obsession if I was thinking about being in the wrong. That I was figuring it out so I can be perfectly behaved next time, and that it was necessary, even essential.

Now, after ten years of walking a kinder, less dishonest path, I fully recognise that any extended thinking with me playing a role is not only boring self obsession, it’s also incredibly dangerous for a mind like mine that, if I’m not paying enough attention, finds deep bogs of obsessive thinking to wallow in.

So, with trusted friends, I look at the part of my thinking that’s led me back into the labyrinth of unhelpful reasoning and try to separate out the delusions of what I think I see, from the reality of the situation.

And then, once I think I’ve seen the reality – in this case that I wasn’t having my best day and was trying to stroke my own ego with total disregard for someone else – I see what I can do about mending any harm I believe I’ve caused, whether they remember, or care about the harm.

In this way, I stay free from the snatching snares of self, and have a chance at living peacefully for one more day.

On this occasion I deleted the comment, then sent my fellow blogger a private apology by email. A day later she responded, very kindly, saying that she had no idea what I was talking about as she’d never read my comment… I laughed for quite a long time at the realisation that even once I’ve done the work to get right sized, reality can still be just a distant dream in my fantasy-filled mind.

In the same vein, I spent years avoiding making pastry as it seemed too complex, too challenging and just too much hard work. Finally, I willed myself into making a pie very similar to the one I’m sharing with you today — which I’ve adapted from The River Cottage Everyday Cookbook — and was blown away by the ease at which it came together and turned into delicious, old fashioned flakiness. In this recipe it’s coupled with a classic chicken and leek filling. Freezable and easy to reheat in the microwave if, like me, you like that sort of easy cooking. You can fill these with almost anything savoury or sweet though, as long as there isn’t too much liquid.

Enjoy.

Pastry

• 300g plain (all purpose) flour
• a pinch of sea salt
• 150g chilled unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
• water and ice, in a glass

Filling

• 30g butter
• 500g leeks (about 2-3 leeks), trimmed and finely sliced
• 1 tsp roughly chopped flat leaf parsley
• 150ml double (heavy) cream
• 1 tsp seeded mustard
• 400g chicken, cut into pieces
• 1 tbl sp olive oil
• salt & pepper for seasoning
• 1 egg, beaten

For the pastry

Mix the flour and salt together in a mixing bowl before adding the butter and tossing until the pieces are covered with flour

Add enough iced water to form the mixture into a fairly firm dough (between 8 and 10 tablespoons)

Shape the dough into a rectangle with your hands, dust a surface and a rolling pin with flour, then roll the pastry away from you until the rectangle’s about 1cm thick

Imagining that your pastry is divided into three, fold the far end of the third towards you to cover the middle third before folding the third closest to you over the top

You will now have a rectangle with three layers of equal size

Quarter turn the pastry and repeat the rolling, folding and turning process 5 more times

Wrap the pastry in cling film and rest in the fridge for at least ½ hour

For the filling

Melt the butter in a frying pan before adding the leeks and parsley

Cook gently for 5-10 minutes until the leeks are very tender

Stir in the cream and continue cooking gently for about 5 minutes, until the mixture has reduced and thickened

Stir in the seeded mustard, and some salt and pepper, before leaving to cool

Turn up to medium high heat, add the olive oil to the same pan and, once warmed, add the chicken

Cook for a few minutes until the chicken is nicely golden coloured

For the pie

Lightly flour a working surface before rolling out the pastry to 3mm thick

Use a plate or tin (I use a loose-bottomed cake tin) to cut out four 20cm circles, I need to re-roll for my fourth circle

Spoon the filling on one half of the pastry circles and pile on the chicken

Brush the edges with a little water before folding over the other half of the pastry

Crimp the edges to completely seal

Place some baking paper onto a baking tray and the pies onto the paper

Brush the egg over the tops of the pasties before baking for about 25 minutes, or until the pastry is golden brown

Eat hot or cold

Sleepless Sleep Training / Baked Chicken, Lime, Chilli & Mint with Spiced Rice

It’s nearly 8 at night. My husband’s out for a few drinks with a friend after work and I’m sitting, laptop perched on my lap, listening to my son softly call out to me,

“Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum”

I try to tell myself it’s just the mantra he’s using to sleep, as if all near-two year olds have a grasp of meditation and the power of repetition. Really it’s the beginning of a regime that I’ve been trying to not use since he was born.

I know there are arguments about children’s sleep habits, how to get them to sleep, how to keep them asleep, how to resettle. And a wonderful article from a frustrated Mum here. I’ve heard them all, I’ve practised them all fervently except one, and have spent nearly two years promising myself that I wouldn’t be a parent who lets their child cry it out.

In case you’re not a parent, or were blessed with sleeping children and never had to know, there are two main schools of thought around sleep for children.

The first one is the softer, let them know you love them, school of thought. It swings from co-sleeping, to resettling a distressed child and leaving the room when quiet but still awake.

The second is a tougher, they’ll be happier in the long run, school of thought. You leave your child to cry, for varying intervals of time, until they learn to fall asleep on their own.

While I was still pregnant, I had bought the most popular ‘leave them to sleep’ books and was convinced that was the path we were going to follow. I had drawn up a timetable in appropriate colours and downloaded apps that would support our self-settling journey.

Then he was born.

The overpowering and profound love I felt was so all encompassing, the thought of him enduring any pain at all seemed completely out of the question. I threw all of my hard-studied beliefs about tough love out of the window the moment his tiny fingers curled around mine and claimed me as his.

We’ve done every one of the soft techniques to try to get him to sleep. We’ve even done some of the softer tough-love techniques. Nothing has ever worked.

Now, finally, with almost 2 years of 3 to 6 hours of broken sleep a night, I know that I can’t do it any more. I desperately need sleep. I’m an increasingly poor parent and person and I can’t imagine continuing in this way for the foreseeable future.

This might seem ridiculous, either to those who don’t have children, whose children slept, or to those for whom the tough-love approach was easier. But it’s always devastated me to hear my son weeping, as he is as I write this. I often end up weeping alongside him, lying on the sofa as a wall separates me from him in his cot.

I’ve read everything. And I do mean everything. I’ve spoken to everyone, from well-meaning friends and random people in supermarkets, to numerous sleep professionals. We’ve done two sleep schools. He just doesn’t sleep. Ever.

And as much as I loathe to succumb to tough love, it’s seems the only option left open to us if I want to re-find my sanity.

He’s been crying for 15 minutes now. It’s ratcheted up in the last 5 minutes and now he’s really devastated. It’s awful and I’m getting weepy. I so badly want to go into him and gather him up in my arms and rock him to sleep, it’s a physical ache.

I have to keep asking myself, “what’s the worst that can happen?”

And really, what is the worst? He threw up a couple of times earlier on when we tried to be tougher. Apart from that, it’s just that he sounds broken, but I know logically he’s not. There’s no doubt that he’s loved absolutely.

It’s been 20 minutes. It feels like 2 hours. I finally turn on the baby monitor to see how he’s going and it’s worse than ever. So I’m giving in for now. I’ll try again later tonight. 20 minutes is pretty good for a first time. We’ll get there.

It’s 10 minutes later. He’s fast asleep, safe in the knowledge that Mum’s there. His little face softened in sleep after the first 5 minutes of gulping great sobs and holding me as close as he could, like I might fade away if he let go. It’s those moments, when he’s still sobbing and clutching me tight in fearful relief that I wonder whether my need for sleep is greater than his need for comfort. No matter how severe my sleep deprivation, the mother side of me thinks, “may be it’s not that bad.”

So why this dish today? It’s super simple, which is essential for an offline brain. It’s also (most importantly) completely delicious as each flavour speaks clearly and elegantly for itself. Finally, it’s very healthy and low in fat, which helps my brain and body keep functioning as well as possible on so little sleep.

Enjoy.

Chicken

• 4 chicken breasts
• 4 large red chillies
• 3 limes
• 20g mint, leaves and stalks
• Chilli flakes for serving
• Plain yoghurt for serving

Rice

• 1 cup basmati rice
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 (5cm/2 inch) piece cinnamon stick
• 2 green cardamom pods
• 2 whole cloves
• 1 tablespoon cumin seeds
• 1 pinch salt
• 2 ½ cups water
• 1 small onion, finely sliced

Pre-heat the oven to 180˚C / 350˚F

Place the rice in a bowl with enough water to cover, set aside for 15 minutes to soak

Meanwhile, tear off 4 squares of tin foil

Place a whole chilli on each piece of foil

Take the chicken out of the fridge and put each chicken breast on top of each chilli

Zest and juice 2 of the limes

Put zest and juice from ½ a lime on each chicken breast

Cut the mint stalks to about the same length as the chicken breast and place 5g inside each foil parcel, on top of the chicken

Season with salt and pepper

Wrap up each parcel and place in a baking tray while you prepare the rice

Heat the oil in a saucepan over a medium heat

Add the cinnamon stick, cardamom pods, cloves, and cumin seed

Cook and stir for about a minute, then add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally until translucent and soft, about 7 minutes

Drain the water from the rice, and stir into the saucepan

Cook and stir the rice for a few minutes, until lightly toasted

Add the water to the pot, and bring to a boil

Cover, and reduce the heat to low

Put the chicken parcels in the oven

Simmer the rice for about 15 minutes, or until all of the water has been absorbed

Let stand while the chicken finishes

Pull the chicken out of the oven, open the parcels and remove the mint and chilli, before placing the open parcels back in the oven for a final 10 minutes

Serve the chicken with the rice, chilli flakes and yoghurt – either remove the foil before serving, or let your eaters pour the delicious juices all over the rice themselves.

In the Comfort of Lemon & Rosemary Roast Chicken

I’ve felt the slow fog of exhausted depression steadily envelop my mind the last few days. My son’s sleeplessness, already legendary amongst family and friends, has taken a large turn for the worse the past couple of weeks and I’ve finally reached the point of barely functioning. I spent all day in bed yesterday, the impending shame of no dinner on the table being the only thing that got me groggily moving during late afternoon. I feel almost totally numb, like a heavy blanket has been gently tucked around my brain.

Depression and I fought monumental battles during my teens and early twenties. A quote on my phone at that time from the great wartime British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, read

“Never, never, never give up”

One of my great fears is to be pulled back into that half-lit existence, with an insurmountable glass wall rising up between me and the rest of the world. Where I can see people but can’t connect in any meaningful way, and the loneliness cripples my soul.

Logic tells me it’s currently exhaustion not depression but, like an alcoholic’s home in the bottle, my mind’s misguided safe place is the grey zone I can’t will or intellectualise my way out of. A deeply frustrating and scary position for a wilful semi-intellectual like me.

I’m doing what I can, based on my experience of actions that work. Calling appropriate people who can listen and advise without judgement or meaningless platitude. Going for walks and gentle swims. Allowing myself to rest, with permission not to feel guilty. Meditating. Actively not comparing myself to the rest of the world who currently seem so functional and obviously more competent than me in every way. Finding laughter wherever and whenever I can. Watching beautiful videos like this one, based on a poem by Shane Koyczan

I’m assured that all I need is enough rest and self-care and, unlike depression, it will pass rather quickly.

And in the spirit of self-care and comfort, I chose to make a roast chicken recipe that I‘ve been gradually honing for over 15 years. Roast is unbelievably easy to make, because even at the best of times I’m all about getting the most bang for my buck. It’s one of my ultimate comfort foods; juicy, delicate, crisp skinned and comforting. Here, where it’s currently warm, it’s delicious with salads and a fresh baguette. In the colder climates (hi guys!) throw some peeled root vegetables in the pan for the last hour or so of cooking. Save the chicken carcass and any root vegetable peelings in a bag in the freezer to make delicious homemade stock (recipe on the Imperfect Kitchen’s Facebook page if you need one). Nothing could be easier, tastier or, for me at this time, more comforting.

Enjoy.

• 1 tbl sp vegetable oil
• 1.8kg chicken, the best quality you can afford
• 125g unsalted butter, softened
• 6 sprigs rosemary
• 1 lemon
• 6 cloves garlic, peeled
• a large pinch of coarsely ground pepper
• a large pinch of sea salt

Preheat oven to 190˚C

Pour the sunflower oil into a large baking dish and place it in the oven while it warms

Finely chop the leaves from 3 sprigs of rosemary

Squeeze the juice from the lemon but keep the lemon carcass

Finely chop 3 cloves of garlic

Mix the butter with the finely chopped rosemary, lemon juice, finely chopped garlic and pepper

Rinse the chicken with cold water, inside and out, and pat dry

Carefully push your fingers between the chicken skin and meat, opening a space while making sure not the break the skin

Push the butter mix into the chicken underneath the skin, trying to keep the coverage even

Rub your greasy hands all over the outside of the chicken, making sure to get into all the little crevices

Sprinkle the salt on the chicken skin and gently rub all over

Store the lemon carcass, 3 whole cloves of garlic and 3 sprigs of rosemary inside the chicken

Remove the pan from the oven and put the chicken in the pan

Return the pan to the oven and cook the chicken for 80 minutes (20 minutes per 450g). Baste every 20 to 30 minutes

Once the chicken has cooked this long, turn up the heat to 220˚C and cook for a further 15 minutes

Leave to rest, covered loosely in tin foil for 10-15 minutes before serving

My City / Lime & Vanilla Chicken Skewers {gluten free}

I first fell in love as my taxi drove down the beach road, dusted with sand and bookmarked in palm trees.

Something in this city called out to me then and has intoxicated me ever since. Something undefinable. Something glorious.

It’s so beautiful here.

The drives at night, over the bridge from the airport, when the city sings with light, and spears of human endeavour pierce the sky.

Graffiti-laden alleys where layer over layer of rebellion and passion in vibrant colour cry out their challenge to the suit-clad business district less than a street away.

Restaurants joyfully spilling onto footpaths, tables with milk-crate seats filled with laughter, friendship and serious coffee, and a lifestyle that inspires all three.

I wanted to be doused with it then, I am soaked in it now. The jaunt has stuck and I’m still utterly in love.

A sunny, joyful meal to be shared with as many as possible.

• 1 tbl sp olive oil
• 1kg chicken breast, cut into bite sized pieces (about 2cm squares)
• Juice & zest from 1 lime
• 1/2 tbl sp salt
• 1 tsp vanilla bean paste
• 2 garlic cloves, crushed
• Bamboo skewers, soaked in cold water for 20 minutes

In a large bowl, combine the olive oil, chicken, lime zest and juice, salt, vanilla bean paste and garlic.

Cover the bowl and place in the fridge for 2-3 hours.

Skewer the chicken and cook on a hot frying pan or barbecue for about 2 minutes on both sides.

Serve hot with salad and plenty of panache…