Coming into 2019 with chicken thighs

2018 was a hell of a year. It felt like a trillion years long. I considered writing up a post taking stock of things, but to be honest, I am not up for that emotional rollercoaster, so screw that. I’ve had a year of questioning a lot of what I am and am not good at, where I can get better, where I need to get stronger, what kind of a person I am, and who I want to have in my life. And that is fucking exhausting. I also started a new full-time demanding but incredibly fulfilling job, which has also pushed me more than I have ever been pushed before. But you know what I am CERTAIN I’m really good at?

Cooking chicken thighs. And I want to share the wealth of my knowledge with all of you, because we can’t let dry, bland chicken into the new year with us. It’s just not right. What do we want? MOIST CHICKEN. When do we want it? All the time, tbh.

Chicken thighs are my absolute favorite food to cook, and, to be perfectly honest, to eat. I don’t know, there’s just something about the salty, crispy skin and the succulent, moist meat on the inside that tastes like utter perfection to me.

So how do we get there? Well, first, you will need some basics.

(I’m going to tell you what I did THIS time (see above picture), but I will indicate what is always necessary for a good chicken thigh, and what is not. I did go a bit further this time because I was, let’s face it, cooking my feelings. Huzzah for healthy coping mechanisms!)

You start, if you can, with a cast iron pan. If you don’t have one, you can use whatever kind of pan you want, as long as it is oven-safe.

This time, I used an enameled one (my most precious prized possession, my Le Creuset pan). A lot of the time, I use a pure cast iron one.

Ingredients!

– Bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs. This is important, because the skin and the bone are KEY here

– olive oil!

– (plenty of) salt & pepper

This is where you start, but I definitely recommend adding other seasonings of your choosing. Have fun with it! I’ve used everything from cumin to coriander to, like, curry powder, and everything in between. And remember: SALT. Chicken wants salt, and plenty of it. (I always use Kosher salt, it is delish and strong.)

This time, I went FANCIER than usual, and first, I braised three leeks (green parts cut off, the light parts cut into half-inch rounds, washed). I used my Le Creuset pan for everything, btw, so here’s another tool if you choose to do leeks:

– a large plate for later

BEFORE I FORGET! Preheat the oven to 385F / 196C.

Melt a pat of butter and add a glug of olive oil in the pan on low heat, then once the butter melts, throw in the prepared leeks. Let them get tender for 5-8 minutes, and when they start browning and sticking a bit, make a bit of space in the middle of the pan and deglaze it with some white wine. Deglazing is just adding a bit of wine & then scraping up the brown bits with a wooden spoon. But it sounds FANCY, yannow? Then let them braise in the wine until they’re pretty tender, and the alcohol has burnt off. This smells like heaven, btw. (You can also have some wine yourself at this point. Not that I’ve ever done that or anything.)

While the leeks do their thing, prep the chicken. Pat the thighs dry with paper towels, then season them generously on both sides with whatever spices you’ve chosen (not forgetting to be very generous with salt!) You can do less seasoning on the bottom side, but remember — chicken loves salt, and we love well-seasoned chicken.

Once the leeks are well-softened, turn them off and transfer them to a large plate. (You will be ahead of the game because you will have prepped it, unlike me, who wandered the kitchen aimlessly wondering what to do with the leeks. I found a plate.)

So. Here come the CHICKEN THIGHS. Excite!!

Add another glug of olive oil, and let it heat up at medium-high heat. Heat it until it passes the water sizzle test – if you drop a drop of water into the oil, it should sizzle. Once it’s ready, you put the chicken in skin-side down. Try not to overcrowd it, it’s better if the thighs have some room (they like manspreading, what can I tell you).

Now comes the hardest (for me) bit – letting them do their thing and not. Touching. Them. This is CRUCIAL, and it takes a while. You HAVE to let them brown. Probably longer than you think. You can occasionally look at them, but be patient. You really want them to get brown and crispy! And OH SO DELICIOUS.

Once you feel like they’re browned enough (and then waited another few minutes), you flip them and brown the other side. This takes less time since all you’re really looking for is for the chicken to take on a BIT of color.

Now: if you did the leeks along with me, this is where, once the thighs are no longer raw on the bottom, you take them out, put them on…oh right. Another plate!..and transfer the leeks back into the pan, spreading them out. Then you put the chicken back onto them, so the leeks can get all those delicious chicken juices seeped into them while in the oven. OM NOM NOM.

Occasionally, I will also put some fresh herbs in the pan alongside it – I am pretty obsessed with thyme at the moment, so it’s what I added, along with some rosemary. Just tuck a few sprigs somewhere in the pan, and you’re good to go. Now you get to stick it in the oven and enjoy the rest of your wine while the chicken cooks!

It takes about 20-30 minutes in the oven. If you have a meat thermometer, it should reach a temp of 165F/ 74C. You want to check the temperature as close to the bone as you can – that’ll be your true reading. If you don’t have a thermometer tell me and I’ll get you one just poke a thigh a bit with a fork to see if the juices run clear. If they do, you’re all set.

Let the thighs rest a bit, then devour with a side of your choice and more of that wine, as is only proper.

You don’t need to add the leeks or fresh herbs or wine every time. The important bits are a) oven-safe pan, b) SALT!, c) PATIENCE. The browning at high heat is what seals in the moisture, the salt is what makes the flavors pop, and the oven-safe pan retains all of the juices beautifully.

Please let me know if you try this and how it goes! Show me pictures! What a bright spot in a rather bleak world sharing recipes and enjoying food together.

So, dear reader, HAPPY NEW YEAR, and here’s to no more sad, dry chicken 2k19 \o/

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Snow Days & Frida Vigdorova

It’s the first real snowfall of this winter in Boston, which is not unusual: most snow doesn’t start to accumulate/batter us until after New Year’s. The first snowfall is always THE BEST, because it’s new! Wheeee! Look, it’s snowing! When I used to have a job where we got snow days, I would always be pissed as hell when snow would fall on weekends, because UGH, come ON. *wants snow days*

I no longer have a job like that, so I’m basically fine with this being the weekend. It just makes it cosier. (Until we have to go outside and shovel. Bah.)

Anyway, the first snow day of the year always reminds me of my very first snow day, EVER. Growing up in Russia, we did not get snow days. Oh no, is it winter? Is it snowing? Oh, how terrible for you. Now get those snow boots on and get your butt to school. The only times I remember school being canceled was when it was too cold. Imagine how COLD it had to be for that to happen. (Obviously, everyone would wind up at the ice rink, skating.)

So, anyway! First snow day was when we lived in Central New York. It was our first winter and it never even occurred to me that such a thing could happen. I woke up one morning and it was very bright, and I was alone in the bedroom I shared with my sister. Confused, I walked downstairs and was greeted by my mom and sister, huge grins on their faces: ENJOY YOURSELF, SCHOOL IS CLOSED.

Best. Day. EVER.

As it happened, my mom had gotten me two Russian books from the university library that I had wanted to read a few years back, but was deemed too young. At 11, my mom thought I was ready. They were called Liubimaya Uliza (Beloved Street) and Semeinoe Schastie (Family Happiness) and they were written by a writer I already loved, Frida Vigdorova.

That first snow day, I read the first book. Actually, it’s more apt to say I swallowed it whole. I think I barely stopped to eat. I sat in the chair and didn’t get up until I was done.

One snow day turned into a miraculous two, and on the second day, I read the second book. Same deal. I’m pretty sure I barely said two words to my family, who very nicely left me alone because they knew.

Vigodorova was not a household name by the time I was born, but my mom grew up with her books, and passed on that love to me and my sister. Looking back, I think, of all the books I read as a kid (which was a lot; I mean, a LOT) Vigdorova’s writing has influenced my worldview the most. And while you can look back at some childhood heroes and realize that they were fallible and imperfect and maybe even not someone to model yourself after, Frida Vigodorova remains a pretty incredible hero to me.

She started out as a teacher, but later on, she became a journalist. What she became most known for wasn’t actually her fiction, but her quietly political life and, most importantly, her final act of heroism, which was this: she transcribed the entirety of Joseph Brodsky’s trial.

F. Vigdorova (image courtesy of russianreader.com

Brodsky was a Soviet poet and writer who was tried by the government for his “crimes against the nation.” You can probably guess what that was all about. He was tried and convicted, and the entire time this farce was going on, Vigdorova sat in that courtroom, and she transcribed every single word. Every single piece of bullshit flung at Brodsky, every single insidious charge–we have it all, because of her. I don’t know how she managed to gain access into that room, but it was a pretty incredible act of journalism.

After his conviction, Vigdorova petitioned and petitioned and petitioned for his release, backed up by huge voices of the times, including poets like Anna Akhmatova and Yevgeniy Yevtushenko (even Sartre; weird, eh? This was a huge deal.) Because of that pressure, Brodsky was eventually released and eventually fled to the US.

But by then, Vigdorova had already died of cancer. Instead of resting and getting treatment, she spent her last months fighting for justice, only not to see the result. This might sound overwrought, but in a totalitarian state, that was a really big fucking deal, and it was an enormous act of bravery.

Apparently, after he was released, Brodsky kept a picture of her in his home, both in the USSR and later, in the US.

Everyone remembers the Brodsky trial, but not many remember the woman who was instrumental in bringing it to light. So I wanted to tell you about her, because she was amazing, and one of the best writers I’ve ever read. She wrote about people, and about love, and about childhood and parenthood and everything in between, and with it all, a sense of political awareness, feminism, and justice underlay everything, subtly enough that it got past the censors. If I had the means and the talent, I would translate her works into English, because they remain some of the best glimpses the lives of the Soviet people I’ve ever encountered.

For more on the Trial of Joseph Brodsky, see the New England Review.

For a stunningly detailed write-up of what Frida Vigdorova was like and everything she’s done, go here. It’s long, but so worth a read.

It’s Tuesday, Have a Teaser!

So, for a while there, I forgot I even had a blog, and then I thought, hey, I have a blog!

But what to write? I, alongside with a lot of you, have been doom-spiraling over current events, and it’s felt like the biggest weight of the world on my shoulders. So naturally, it’s been the main thing on my mind. Guess what we don’t need? Anymore doom-spiraling. So I haven’t done anything about this Having a Blog malarkey.

And then a friend suggested one thing, and I thought of another, and now I’m thinking, I can do this. So, to start off with, because it’s Tuesday, I’m going to give you a TEASER.

This actually will not be a teaser to my book (I figure, I can tease you with that the closer it gets. Mwahaha), but of something I’ve been working on just for a lark that has turned from a short story into a novella into most likely a novel. It’s Regency, and it’s my current happy place.

So, without further ado, here’s the opening scene. I hope you enjoy.

~*~*~

Callum parted the curtains with nary a glance towards the bed, knowing full well that he would get his fill once he turned round. He liked how the early morning glow would not disturb as much as invite itself, and sure enough, just as the hazy dawn spilled its way across the over-stuffed room, behind him, Alfie began to stir.

Callum, careful to be out of anyone’s view should they dare trespass his gardens before him, leaned against the window seat.

“Mornin’ and all,” he said, watching Alfie stretch his lily white arms over his head and smile in Callum’s direction without even opening his eyes a crack. Callum allowed himself to gaze his fill at the slender body he’d have to take leave of in the next half hour lest he be caught. Bones defined where Alfie’s neck met his hairless chest, the smoothness of his skin catching in the orange light, the soft down under his arms. It was a sight to behold, his Earl was. Or, well. Not an Earl yet, thank God, or they could hardly be here, could they?

No, Alfie was his for the present moment, which was probably why Callum was in no hurry to oblige his honourable so-and-so’s beckoning hands.

His honourable so-and-so spoke, voice raspy against wakefulness. “Come, you horrible tease, you cannot leave me now, not like this.” His fingers grasped the air like a child’s would.

“And who says I’m leaving?”

Alfie pouted and finally deigned to open his eyes a crack. “Well, you’re all the way over there,” he said and, just as Callum knew he would, shoved the covers aside, revealing his honourable morning stand, vivid against his pale skin, nestled in his dark blond curls. Alfie knew Callum had a weakness for that morning stiffness, knew Callum loved being the first one to greet him on these mornings. “And you’ve opened the curtains as if I cannot read a clock. Most importantly,” he went on, one hand already much too close to being the first to touch his honourable prick this morning, “I am over here and have no plans to budge from this bed.”

Callum’s mouth watered even as he attempted to playact at aloofness. It never worked well, not really—not even when Alfie was being his most high in the instep, cock-sure fuck of a gent and getting all—well. Callum’s mother would have called it ‘above his station,’ apart from how Alfie acted exactly as his station befitted. It was Callum who hopped into an Earl’s son’s bed the first chance he got.

And the first chance hadn’t even been in his bed.

Presently, he swallowed and lunged for Alfie, getting to him just in time. With hard-earned expertise, he took him down in his mouth. As highborn as Alfie was, his prick tasted the way all pricks taste, though better washed, and his words—well, for all he was an educated cove, he sure did have a commonplace mind when it came right down to it.

Alfie’s hand curled in Callum’s hair and Callum’s hands, rough and dark, clawed at Alfie’s narrow hips. Best sort of morning, this was. The best there ever could be for him, really.

~*~

Romancing the (Confused) Writer

So, August is Romance Month (or so I’ve been told, and in the grand tradition of the internet, I’m not actually going to independently factcheck this but simply use it to advance my own agenda) and a friend suggested I write about how I got into Romance and Romancelandia in the first place.

This also fits nicely in with the fact that yesterday, I finished my very first manuscript. As in, a book. Which I wrote? And an amazing publishing house (*cough* Brain Mill Press *cough*) actually want to publish. It’s…a very strange feeling. On the one hand, I knew that I was, you know. Doing this thing. But it still felt a bit like an out of body experience to actually format the thing and say, okay. So. I guess, like. I’m sending this to my agent? (I have an agent?!) And then, you know. Submitting it by deadline? (I have a DEADLINE.)

It’s all very strange and confusing, but back to Romance: it was December 2014, and I was desperate for some queer historical writing. Like, my entire being was clamoring for something LIKE Jane Austen, except queer. Someone I knew had recommended The Gentleman and the Rogue by Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon as a fun read, and I decided to give it a shot. Hey, it was four bucks. Hard to beat that.

I’d never read Romance before. I think I held the same prejudices as a lot of people who don’t know much about Romance hold, but it’s hard to remember now through my film of ROMANCE IS THE BEST EVERYONE STFU ABOUT IT. Regardless, I read it and enjoyed it, so I asked for more recs. Then another friend of mine (@booksandjoe, if you must know) sent me an email with a whole bunch of recommendations, which ended with “You have to read KJ Charles’s Think of England but just know that it’s the best one and nothing will ever top it.”

I took her at her word and put off reading it for a week or so. In that time, my wife picked it up and read it and looked at me and said, “This is amazing. She’s right – nothing will top it. Also it’s got, like, one of best blowjobs I’ve ever read.”

I read through the other recs, then finally picked up Think of England.

And that is what I think of as my head-first tumble into Romancelandia. I was gone.

And I needed MORE. Give me more historical British romance, I yelled at Amazon. Moarrrr, give me moar! A bunch of books fell out when I shook the internet. I read Joanna Chambers’ The Enlightenment Series while hungover on January 1st and it was the single greatest January 1st I had ever had. I read KJ Charles’s The Magpie Series. It was a school vacation for me, so I gorged myself until the well suddenly appeared to run dry. “Nooooooooo!” I screamed to the heavens as I poked at several free samples that just weren’t doing it for me. “What do I do NOW?”

Enter @booksandjoe to the rescue once more. She told me that I had to read Glitterland by Alexis Hall. It was contemporary, but still British (don’t ask; I have strange needs) so I decided to give it a shot.

And oh man, was I glad that I had done that. Was I ever, ever glad.

Reading Glitterland led me to Prosperity, which led me to write a truly embarrassing note to Alexis Hall via his website (!) to which he responded in the nicest, most gracious manner to a message that probably caused him to back away from his computer slowly.

And that opened up the door for me to read contemporary romance. And then romance that wasn’t just British-set. And then I was reading all the recommendations, ever, and I am beyond grateful that I did the thing. Still do, of course–no one shall take my Romance away from me. *clutches it to her bosom*

So, how does this tie in to me finishing my manuscript in August of 2016? I had had an idea kicking around my brain for a book, but could never figure out the hook for it. When I first had the idea, I had been trying to picture it as a finished book on a display in a bookstore. Which, to me, meant that it needed to be a lot of things I felt constrained by (in my general lack of knowledge about Big Six Publishing). But then, the hook came to me.

OH. It was a romance.

From there, it became many others things, and I felt a huge sense of freedom. Just…write what you know. Research what you don’t. And stop caring about where the project will end up (I’m still having trouble with this part).

Through Romancelandia, I have met incredible, wonderful people. I’ve met people I consider to be some of my closest friends. I’ve met people I admire, people I respect, people I love hearing from. I’ve met people who have supported me and whom I have supported in turn. It’s been a whirlwind sort of ride, and I don’t plan on getting off it anytime soon. ROMANCE! HOORAY FOR ROMANCE!

And that is how I got into Romancelandia.

Hello!

Nominally, I have a new website. Welcome! I will probably post intermittently about things that nobody cares about, such as my thoughts on Hamilton (recently, I’ve had few others, frankly), favorite 80’s movies (I’m watching “The Money Pit” right now, which is obviously perfection), ramblings about all the virtues of my wife (who agrees with me on all of the above), and the occasional ramblings about politics, immigration, and various other lightweight topics.

Also, I’ve got a new (set of) books out at some point! All official like! Wheeee!