As a unit, we will not be gross.

Tonight marked the first time in my kitchen-related journey where my cousin didn't have any comments about a new recipe. This is big. The guy talks a lot.

We're sitting in a bar, and the Colts are about to play. Being a Hoosier, I'm surprised there aren't more people here. I'm a pretty good sport (pun intended, because I'm clever like that) about watching football with D., SO I MADE HIM EAT BROCCOLI TONIGHT, BWAHAHAHA.

Anyway, before we got here, I cooked something from AR called "Quick and Easy Chicken." It wasn't quick or particularly easy, but the sauce that the recipe delineated introduced a new concept to me: ingredients that, separately, seem like they would be disgusting together... but they aren't. Ketchup, soy sauce, lemon juice, sugar, black pepper. To me, that mix sounds like something you'd dare someone to eat at a teenage slumber party. Instead, it came out pretty decently.

So I made the sauce and poured it onto chicken breasts that had browned in chopped onion. I served that atop fettucini that I'd prepared in chicken broth (god, I love bouillon cubes... using them takes anything you make that could be "eh" and instead makes you look like a better cook than you actually are) and had some broccoli marinara (can of diced tomatoes, couple shakes of balsamic vinegar, some basil, bag of frozen broccoli... simmer it all in a skillet for 10-15 minutes). The sauce was... sweet? A little tangy? Mostly sweet, I think. My cousin's only comment was that I should quadruple the sauce recipe so that I can use more of it on the pasta. The original AR recipe's comments indicated that the amounts to make the sauce weren't large enough, so I nearly doubled it as it was, and it barely covered the chicken. So, next time, I'll know what to do.

But really. They shouldn't call it "Quick And Easy Chicken" when I have to chop half an onion (insert dislike button here), concoct a sauce, cook chicken (which makes me nerrrrrrvous), and then simmer it for 25 minutes. I should have just made Zatarain's jambalaya. Twenty-five minutes, three dirty dishes. Boom.

Over the weekend, once again, I didn't exactly cook. I made my own recipe of steak quesadillas (cook up really cheap steak; layer cheddar, lettuce, onion, hot sauce, green pepper, whatever you want... it's kind of like an omelette in this capacity... on half of a large tortilla; bake at 350 for 7 minutes) on Friday night. On Saturday, for lunch I cooked up some chicken breasts in chicken broth and made sandwiches (or, in our household, "sammiches") out of them. That night, I went to a hayride/bonfire thing in Noblesville that my brother and his family hosted, so I had a hearty meal of hot dogs and s'mores over flames. Sunday was a Titans game, so I had a quesadilla at The End Zone. I then later ordered some bosco sticks (breadsticks filled with cheese... quintessential bar food) and promptly threw them up. Twice.

Fortunately, the chicken with the misleading I-thought-I'd-be-in-the-bathroom-moments-later sauce seems to be sitting well. My cousin's stomach, which is far more volatile, is also calm. That calls for a good night in my household, as far as the water bill goes.

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