Those Lovely Legs

So, I decided to take on the daunting task of impressing a squadron of saved, sanctified, Holy Ghost-filled, water-baptized meat masters. I invited my aunts for my mother’s birthday dinner and decided to rebel a little and prepare something besides jerk chicken. These women have walked for miles and miles, pots on their heads, life swaying from their hips. They’ve sashayed through bushes, rivers and mountains. They’ve made meals for the apostles and kissed the bitter lips of time when dreams washed away. But through it all, they’ve maintained their swagger, especially in the kitchen. And so I humbly accept my inheritance, washing my chicken legs with vinegar, massaging them with poultry seasoning, onion, garlic, and obscene amounts of scallion, thyme and rosemary. I drizzle my lovely legs with extra virgin olive oil, the same one used to anoint my head for protection, place them in a plastic container and set them in the fridge. The result: standing ovation, cheers, love and my aunt who asked, “Where’s the gravy?”

Hallelujah Rosemary-Thyme Baked Chicken

Ingredients:

6 pounds of all natural or organic chicken legs

Vinegar (To clean chicken)

Poultry seasoning (I used Nature’s Seasoning)

1 Large chopped onion

6 cloves of chopped garlic

3 stalks of chopped scallion

8 sprigs of fresh thyme

5 sprigs of rosemary

½ cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil

4 tablespoons of butter

Prep Work:

Clean the chicken with about three tablespoons of vinegar.

Cut off any extraneous chicken fat.

Rinse thoroughly.

Pat dry with good paper towel (I used Bounty).

Massage chicken with poultry seasoning, onion, garlic, scallion, and extra virgin olive oil. Add fresh thyme and rosemary sprigs throughout the chicken.  

Place chicken in sealed container overnight or for at least 12 hours.

Directions:

Preheat oven at 475 degrees for at least 15 minutes.

Line a deep baking pan with foil.

Coat pan with olive oil and butter.

Place chicken legs in baking pan.

Turn down oven to 375 degrees.

Place chicken in baking pan uncovered for 15 minutes or until chicken starts to cook.

Cover chicken with foil and turn down oven to 350 degrees.

After 20 minutes, check on the chicken.

Flip the legs around, so both sides get more of the gravy.

Check on the chicken in 25 minutes to coat chicken with gravy that’s in the pan

(I used a big spoon).

Chicken should be ready in an hour, but if they’re not fully cooked, leave in the oven longer, but make sure to keep coating chicken with gravy to keep it from dying out.

When chicken is ready, they should be gorgeously brown.

Let it sit outside of oven for about 10 minutes before serving.

Beer Suggestion: Ice-cold Red Stripe (Classic Jamaican food pairing) or Monk in the Trunk (An almost sweet, yummy, organic amber ale)

Wine Suggestion: Veuve du Vernay Brut or Veuve du Bernay Brut Rosé (Cheap and delicious French bargains)

Fasting

I come from generations of fasters. Fasting is a ritual where one gives up a meal or meals in order to draw closer to God. Whenever I have this conversation with people who view fasting as some strange, Eastern, Ghandi-esque tradition, they always ask this very valid question: How does not eating draw you closer to God? It’s not about the food; it’s about the sacrifice attached to it. It’s about pushing through the desire to consume with your physical being in order to feed your spiritual being with the strength it needs to overcome those unbearable obstacles and release blessings into your life. I belong to a prayer circle of women between the ages of 30-something to 84, and we fast on Wednesdays. I usually start off by reading scripture, thanking God for all the prayers that have been answered in and out of the circle and stating my petitions. The more specific the petition, the more effective the result. It’s not enough to ask God for a job. What kind of job do you want? Where? How much do you want to make? I have observed amazing breakthroughs in this circle—from healing from brain cancer to deliverance from a huge financial burden. I cherish the old school fasters, who have transformed fasting into a sacred, prayerful art. As I reflect on Trayvon Martin and the Trayvon Martins-to-come, I’m fasting for the divine covering of our young men who dare wander the streets uncovered.    

Longing for Greens

                               

Today was the end of a chapter. You know how it is. You hold hands. You gaze longingly. You sip Champagne. You frolic through that yummy lie like a wine gypsy wandering through this beautiful, French vineyard I once visited. Everything is green and glossy until the last chapter when the longing gaze looks more like a tired eyeball hoping you’ll stop talking. lol

Christmas Booty & Fresh Greens

God drew a heart in the sky for me this morning. I’m serious. I just finished 100 downward dogs, my derriere feeling rounder than the fullest moon. And as I lay down for shavasana, a cloud appeared in the shape of a heart. Whenever possible I go to the free yoga class at Bayfront Park. It’s perfect weather for bending, breathing, straddling the wind and glancing at the woman whose derriere looks like it could hang neatly from a Christmas tree. With all this airy introspection, I decided to eat a simple, mixed green salad. I stumbled into Organic Girl Good Clean Greens at Publix and was taken with the beautiful, bright lettuce that stood out among the other bags filled with dewy, brown leaves. Don’t you hate spending $4.99 for a bag of organic greens that look like they were picked from a sewer garden? It’s been a while since my palate perceived the spicy, earthy, fresh nuances in the ubiquitous spring mix. I had some Gran Queso that I grated for the salad. The cheese is like a Manchego meets Parmigiano-Reggiano in flavor and in texture. I tossed in some dried cranberries and drizzled a little Makoto Ginger Dressing.  The salad was calling for a nice Sancerre, a Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc or a yummy sparkling wine—Graham Beck, maybe. But I never have two things that match. I had a 2007 Allegrini Palazzo Della Torre that was leftover from last night, so I just sipped that. This wine is delicious. Dried, dark cherries and raisins downward dog the palate. It gets jammy after it sits in the glass for a while. It’s brick red and super juicy like many of the yogi-dudes who insist on practicing topless.

Happy Birthday, Jesus. I know you’re sipping the good stuff:)

Barefoot Lies

My mother loves Manischewitz Concord Grape wine. To her, it is grander than the most distinguished Sauternes or luxurious Pedro Ximenez dulce. She called me yesterday, her voice as sugary as her favorite wine because she bought a bottle of Barefoot Sweet Red for under $6 and was wondering what I thought of it. My mother is the godmother gourmet squatter, a master at discovering the most sophisticated gourmet fare at half the price. She’s skilled at budgeting in such way that she can enjoy luxurious treats like wild smoked salmon and freshly made turkey sausages. I acquiesce to her ability to sniff free gourmet samples from miles away. But we don’t share the same wine passions. Still, I joined her for a first taste of her new find. It wasn’t tragic. Actually, it was the kind of base I’d use for a summer sangria or as an ingredient for Jamaican black cake. She loved it, smiling at me from underneath her colorful, paisley tie-head. “You like it?,” she asked in her roaring, Jamaican twang, her excitement mirroring that of a child skipping away barefoot on a sugary sand beach, the world and all its pretensions lost in the dawn’s light. “Yes,” I responded. “You too lie,” she said, rolling her luscious, brown eyes at me.