Back again, with peach-whiskey chicken

And then, after nearly two weeks of eating alone, Sean came home. Hurrah!

And there was nothing else to do but make a man meal. You know the kind of meal I'm talking about. It's rich, it's meaty, it's probably filled with all sorts of things (ample butter, pounds of pasta, maybe a little meat-on-meat action) that you'd shy away from making on an average Monday.

And I must have missed him because I picked a doozy of a recipe to make for dinner. Instead of pulling a cozy favorite of the shelf (Silver Palate, or The Barefoot Contessa at Home), I cracked open The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Food From My Frontier.

Let it be known, that although I have a deep affection for the pioneer life (born and raised in Utah, deeply devoted to sun bonnets and Laura Ingalls Wilder), I'm not a Pioneer Woman fan girl. But I can say this: Thank you, Ree Drummond, for making me believe that it is okay to start a week with a dinner that requires chicken legs, whiskey, a jar of jam, and four cups of BBQ sauce. Not to mention butter laced mashed potatoes.

Of course, I had to make this recipe my own. I started by making a double batch of my Grandfather's BBQ sauce. Once the chicken was cooking, instead of adding a jar of store bought peach jam I added homemade nectarine preserves. Fresh sliced peaches? There are none to be found in March. The chopped parsley garnish was replaced with cilantro. And I just didn't have the time to make mashed potatoes. Baked Yukon Gold, split, and topped with a healthy dollop of butter seemed to do just fine.

I'm enclosing the original recipe, both to give credit where credit is due, and to encourage going-with-the-flow. There's a lot of craziness in my life right now, and I find it helps to not have too many grand expectations -- or to stress too much about the little details. No peaches? No problem. Preserved nectarines will do just fine.

Peach-Whiskey Chicken
Recipe from The Pioneer Woman. Recipe presented in Pioneer Woman style, with step-by-step photos.

2 Tablespoons olive oil
2 Tablespoons butter
12 chicken legs, skin on
1 yellow onion, diced
1 1/2 cups whiskey
4 cups BBQ sauce
1 cup peach preserves
2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
4 peaches, pitted and sliced into 8 slices each
Mashed potatoes, for serving
3 green onions thinly sliced
Chopped fresh parsley

Pre-heat the oven to 300 degrees. Heat the olive oil and the butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cook the chicken pieces until golden brown on all sides, about 5 minutes. Remove from the skillet and set aside.

Add the onion to the skillet. Stir and cook over medium heat for about 3 minutes, or until translucent. Pour in the whiskey, taking care if you're cooking over an open flame. Cook for 3 minutes or so, allowing the whiskey to cook and reduce. If it seems appropriate, use that 3 minutes to pour some more whiskey and make a cocktail.

 

Grab your favorite bottled BBQ sauce and add it to the pan. Add the peach preserves, Worcestershire sauce, and 1/2 cup water, then whisk to combine. It won't look like much, but it will smell amazing.

Add the chicken back to the pan, then throw in the fresh peaches (if using).

Cover the skillet with a lid or aluminum foil and place in the oven for 90 minutes. When it emerges, the chicken will be tender and falling off the bone... the sauce will be beautiful, thick, and rich. You'll know it's done.

 Serve the chicken over a big mound of potatoes, spooning sauce over the whole thing. Sprinkle with green onions and parsley.

Make sure the table is set with paper napkins, you're in for a saucy night.

Eating Alone

Sean's been in Los Angeles with his mom for ten days and in that week-and-a-half, I've learned something: My views on eating alone have completely changed.

Is it because I'm lonely, you wonder? No -- even though I am, a little. It's because before, when I was single, eating alone was The Norm. I lived alone, I ate alone. I cooked only things I liked, planned for leftovers, and went out a few times a week simply to be sure I wouldn't shrivel. 

Then for awhile I lived with someone, only he traveled for work all the time. Most weekdays I was alone in our house perched near the top of one of San Francisco's big hills. I'd watch the fog roll in and feel the chill begin to seep through the cracks. I hardly ever went out during this time. I was finishing the book, and I was poor and tired. Most days, an intense yoga class and a bowl of soup sounded better than fighting for a solo spot at a restaurant in the Mission.

Now, I am married. I live in a different house, near the bottom of a different hill, but I can still watch the fog roll in. And when that starts to happen, I know it's time to get up from my desk and make dinner.

I cook five nights a week, at least. Always something different, only a little repetition, and the meals are hearty. All of a sudden I cook like my mother: Meat, a side salad, maybe some bread. Ideally there's something else in there too -- A rice, quinoa, or lentil salad, roasted potatoes or brussels sprouts. Sometimes Sean eyes the dinner plate and then -- before he ever even sits down -- pulls a cheese or two from the fridge so they can soften while we eat. This means he's really hungry (a long run) or that my "substantial" meal of beans and greens isn't quite substantial enough.

Now that he's gone more, I've completely stopped cooking. I stretch my leftovers beyond what most people would consider reasonable, and eat lots of my usual lunches for dinner. This often means slabs of Acme bread with hummus, avocado, and cheese, or scrambled eggs and steamed greens dribbled with olive oil. One night I ate cheez-its and a side salad. This was the night that got me thinking.

I knew lots of girls that ate like this all the time when they were single: Bags of Trader Joe's edamame tossed with salt. Bowls of granola. Cheese and crackers. Waffles. But I was never that girl. I always cooked meals. I always took care of myself. What happened?

I think (hope) that this has less to do with slovenly behavior or a total abandonment of my self than it does with an acknowledgement of my own needs -- as separate from Sean's needs and different from our needs as a couple.

Now when I'm home alone taking care of myself means something different than it did before. Some nights I'd rather take a bath than cook dinner. Others, I'd rather crawl into bed and write or think about bohemian poets. And then there are the nights that all I really want to do is watch TV and bake coconut-cashew-cranberry granola and eat roasted brussels sprouts for dinner. Again.

I'm curious to know what you think about all this. What do you eat when you're alone? If you live with someone -- a roommate or love -- is it different when they're gone?

I don't really have plans to make any big adjustments, mind you. In fact I think that's my point: Sometimes the best way to take care of yourself is to just do the things that make you feel like you.

Bohemian Love: Una and Robinson Jeffers

Robinson Jeffers was the first poet to introduce the idea of wild and untamed California spaces to a national audience. The "California Poet," Jeffers was especially fond of the rugged coastline just north of Big Sur.

Robinson Jeffers smokes a pipe

In 1914, Robinson (or Robin, as he liked to be called) and his wife Una moved to Carmel. It was an escape: The two had met and become lovers while Una was married. Their affair was so scandalous it became news in the Los Angeles Times.

Una Jeffers before her marriage to Robinson

And no wonder. While Jeffers was tall, slight, and brooding, Una was a beauty, "rounded headed and wild eyed with wonder and delight." She was his disciplinarian and his muse. Her small writing desk was positioned directly one floor down from his, and when she heard him wandering their loft, she'd rap on the ceiling to tell him to get back to work. He must have liked and needed the encouragement, because it was after meeting Una that he produced his greatest work.

Una's writing desk. Photo by Susan Grey

Una inspired him in other ways. After one tragically still born daughter, Una gave birth to twin boys. The couple bought land on Carmel Point and began to build a cottage and tower from granite boulders that he pulled from the shore.

Tor House photo c/o Robinson Jeffers Association

Robinson built Hawk Tower as a gift for Una. She kept her favorite objects there: Photos, bits of plant and dried flowers, her musical instruments. She was a "tower woman." She felt a deep affinity with women in Irish ballads "who leaned from stone towers over tossing seas." Una also had a deep appreciation for the magical. She loved unicorns, and tiny porcelain figurines, woven tapestries, and other mementos with unicorn symbolism can be found tucked into the nooks and crannies of her home.

Vintage Hawk Tower photo c/o Robinson Jeffers Association

I'm sure Una had talent that ranged beyond inspiring her husband. Maybe she could have been a poet too, or a musician, or a painter. Instead she devoted herself to her husband and children and her home. She kept chickens, she gardened, she brewed amber colored wine.

I thought I'd be most inspired by the Tower at Tor House with its hidden staircase and views of the sea. Everyone dreams of a room of their own, right? But my favorite room in the house was the kitchen. It isn't the original kitchen Una cooked in -- that was narrow and small -- but it's a room she still spent time in. And it's easy to understand why: Views of rocks and sea, a fireplace big enough for a cauldron, redwood walls painted with cheerful inspiration quotes, a large table.

Photo of Una and Robinson Jeffers & family from Ordinary Times

I could just picture myself on a writer's retreat, reading the paper and writing at the table with big cups of coffee for fuel and long walks on the shore in the afternoons.

Una's friendly ghost is easily felt throughout Tor House, and I'm intrigued by this beautiful woman. Her deep love for the outdoors and for cooking, books, and music is so inspiring. I know she was so much more than Robinson Jeffers' muse, but I'm intrigued by the idea that without her, Tor House, Hawk Tower, and Jeffers' poetry might not have existed.

Una guarded her husband's "'sacred quietness' like a lioness." Who took care of her?

* You can find out more information about touring Tor House here. Quotes taken from Of Una Jeffers by Edith Greenan and "He Built Her a Tower' by F. Older.