Sometimes I feel I have pretty awesome cooking skills. And sometimes … not so much.
For some reason, my copy of The Joy of Cooking has been sitting open on my counter for several weeks to the poultry section. Eventually, the page for chicken cordon bleu caught my eye and I thought, “how hard can this be?”I had lunch meat in the fridge and some thawed chicken breasts. I could make this happen.
Pound chicken. Check. Add a piece of swiss. Check. Add a piece of ham. Check. Roll. Um. Fold? It unfolds. Fold again (with authority this time). Um. Curse Mark Bittman for saying just press the raw chicken together so it sticks. Check. Grab toothpicks. Check, check, check.
Do the breading thing. Good to go.
Into the pan. Bittman’s time comes and goes. This doesn’t look right; it looks uncooked. Joy’s cooking time passes a minute later. I keep cooking.
Outside looks a little browned (and by browned, I mean burned), but I feel good. It doesn’t look too bad.
I toss everything back into the pan and cook some more.
The outer crust is now black. The outer chicken is now dehydrated. But inside, nestled next to the lunch meat, raw chicken.
The trash can ate well that night.