One of the most basic of all human activities is giving other human beings instructions. I contend that we evolved the complexities of language out of our innate drive to tell other people what to do and how to do it. In fact, giving instructions is so quintessentially human that most of us have a constant, internal stream of instructions playing in our heads, every waking moment: Feed the cat. You’re not singing “Happy Birthday” as you wash your hands. Check your zipper before you go up to make that speech.
PeanutButter & Jelly is devoted to the fine art of giving instructions.
And, as your dean, I’d like to be the first to contribute — a recipe. Not a peanut butter and jelly sandwich recipe, though that would be entertaining. No, I’d like to share my very own recipe for Chicken and Dumplings.
Matthew’s Chicken and Dumpings
Ingredients
- 100 3-pound chickens, preferably plucked, cleaned, and cut into quarters (If you don’t have 3-pound chickens, substitute 150 2-pound chickens)
- 25 gallons of water
- 12½ gallons of chicken broth (I don’t recommend using broth cubes)
- 100 roughly chopped carrots (not roughly 100 chopped carrots)
- 100 roughly chopped celery stalks (see above, except substitute celery)
- 100 medium onions, cut into quarters (that’s 1/4s, not the coin)
- 2 cups and 2 teaspoons salt (precision counts)
- ½ cup freshly ground pepper (don’t grind it yet — it could be a couple of days before you need it)
- 1 bottle wine, red or white
- 50 pounds of flour
- 1 cup and 2 teaspoons baking soda (I told you precision counts,)
- 1 cup and 2 teaspoons salt (didn’t I?)
- 4 gallons, 2¾ cups shortening
- 25 gallons buttermilk (or substitute 100 quarts of buttermilk)
Cooking Instructions
Place the chickens in a 45-gallon pot and add the water, broth, carrots, onions, celery, and salt. Bring to a boil, cover, and lower heat. Simmer for an hour or so until the chicken is tender but done. Remove chicken and cool. Now let the chicken cool. Remove the vegetable pieces from the broth and serve to relatives who aren’t invited to the chicken and dumpling dinner. Don’t let them have the broth — you’ll need it later.
Bone the chickens. This will be quicker and considerably easier if you have the help of three or four experienced butchers. Discard the skin, bones, and cartilage, because most people frown on eating cartilage with their dumplings. Tear the meat into bite-size pieces. The meat can be cut, but tearing will allow you to work off some of your aggression. Reserve the torn chicken pieces. If you have no help with the dumplings, you have plenty of time to freeze the torn chicken pieces.
Now prepare the dumplings. Combine the flour, baking soda, and salt, and then cut in the shortening with an extra large pastry blender like the ones you see at pizza joints. If no large blender is handy, guilt-trip your relatives into helping you after they’ve eaten the vegetables (see above). The texture of the mixture should be something like coarse meal (not “a coarse meal,” which is what you just had with your vegetable-eating, broth-swilling relatives). Add the buttermilk and stir the batter with an oar, just enough to moisten.
Turn the dough out onto a floured driveway and knead about five times — galoshes help quite a bit with the kneading. It’s unlikely you’ll knead it too much because, frankly, I’d be surprised if you still have the energy to stomp around after cutting in the shortening.
You can make either rolled or drop dumplings. Drop dumplings are much easier but make you look like an amateur. For drop dumplings, pat the dough down until it’s a sheet ¼ inch thick, and pinch off 1½ inch pieces. For rolled dumplings, roll the dough into a sheet ¼ inch thick and cut into 2×2 inch squares. In both cases, the sheet will be at least a queen and possibly king. Don’t try fitted — cutting a fitted sheet is even harder than folding one.
I recommend a hoe for cutting the dumplings. Don’t let the pieces get bigger and bigger as you get more tired. Remember: “dumpling” in Norwegian means “a little dump.” Large dumplings (or, more technically, “dumps”) won’t cook all the way through, and anyway they’re hard to eat without a knife and fork. If you’ve exercised proper aggression while tearing your chicken, no one should need a knife.
Bring the broth you hid from your relatives to a low rolling boil. Using a large slotted spoon, release the dumplings into the broth one or two at a time. Do not take more than a day and a half to put the dumplings into the broth, or else some may be overcooked and tough, and no one likes tough, chewy dumplings with their torn chicken. Reduce the heat to medium, and stir occasionally to prevent the dumplings from sticking to each other. If you haven’t already, open the wine and have a nice big wine cooler with half of it. Grind the pepper.
Finally, return the torn chicken to the broth and simmer until the chicken is heated through. If you had no help with the dumplings, be sure to defrost the cooked chicken first. Finish your second wine cooler, shovel in the freshly ground pepper, stir, and remove from heat.
Serves 10 to 500, depending on portion size.
Guten Appetit from the dean