Sunday Dinner

In the Teren household (well, back in the day when all four of us were actually living full-time in the Teren household) Sunday night was one of my favorite nights of the week for one reason (well, I guess two reasons if you counted a new episode of Desperate Housewives at 8:00) and one reason only: Sunday dinner. Our standard Sunday supper included mom's salmon, baked with leeks, lemon slices, butter, and parsley, french green beans or a tossed salad, sauteed zucchini with onions, and some crusty bread and butter. Often times we sat at the kitchen table and entertained each other with scintillating conversation, while other times we sat in front of the TV and watched 60 Minutes, letting Andy Roony entertain us with his very wise words. Either way, Sunday night always meant good food and good company.

This past Sunday night, Jac and I returned once more to the Connolly kitchen to make a decadent dinner. Luckily there was no bickering over what to cook, no precious time wasted looking up various recipes, and no calling our moms 17 times asking for idea suggestions that involve this but not that this time around (well, okay I guess we called Mrs. Connolly once or twice, but that was after we'd already decided what to make and just had some quick questions).

Sunday Night Menu: 
Coq Au Vin - succulent dark meat chicken served in a red wine sauce with onions, carrots, celery, mushrooms, bacon, and thyme
French Onion Soup - topped with toast and melted Gruyere and Parmesan cheeses
Crusty bread for dipping

Yes, a rather wintery meal, but much to my delight Jac suggested the coq au vin (he once worked at a French restaurant and loved the dish, prepared by chef Martin) and naturally we had to add in our favorite soup, French onion, to make the meal complete.

We looked up about 5-7 recipes for our chicken dish, mixing and matching ingredients to our liking (heavy on the mushrooms for me, heavy on the carrots for him) and Jac even creatively veered off course from our researched recipes, using the technique he swore he'd seen Martin use for his wine sauce; while most recipes instructed us to pour a bottle of red wine over the chicken and veggies, allowing it to simmer before putting the whole pot into the oven, Jac made a thicker sauce consisting of wine, butter, and flour, over which he poured the chicken and vegetables just before letting everything bake together for 30 minutes. I, of course, wanted to follow the directions, but he was confident in his method so I set my kitchen-control-freak persona aside, and Jac took the reigns.

Jac and I were the A-team in the kitchen: I made the French onion soup--which Mr. Connolly dubbed the best he'd ever had, thank you very much --and also chopped up all the onions, carrots, celery, mushrooms, and bacon for the coq au vin, while he seasoned and browned the chicken, then assembled, flipped, sauteed, stirred, poured, and everything else.

We timed it perfectly. We cooked it perfectly. We plated it perfectly. If I do say so myself.

Everything was absolutely delicious. The chicken was cooked to perfection: moist and tender, it fell off the bone and was bursting with flavors of onions, thyme and wine, and the vegetables were soft but not mushy (I hate a mushy vegetable). I toasted little toast rounds with melted gruyere and parmesan cheese to float atop the sweet and salty soup, and we soaked up the coq au vin sauce and leftover veggies with a French baguette (obviously, we had to stay with the genre). Although we were sweating from the heat in the kitchen, the heat of our food, and the heat outside, everyone was happy, just a little sweaty.

Sunday Dinner was a great success and Jac and Mads are now three for three. Might have to redo this one once colder weather comes around and it's more season appropriate, or we may instead just keep pushing on and trying new things...I've already started browsing recipes ;)

Kiss the cooks!

take me out to the ball game

Wrigley Field. It's is one of the oldest baseball parks in the United States, coming in second behind the Red Sox's Fenway. But according to many Chicagoans Wrigley is the nicest stadium in the country, blowing wannabees like Fenway Park and Yankee Stadium out of the water. The ivy covered outfield walls, the hand-turned score board, the art deco main entry marquee, and of course the delicious ballpark eats are just a few of the things that make Wrigley Field...Wrigley.

For our big adventure of the weekend, Jac and I bought tickets to visit the home of the Chicago Cubs and watch them face off against the Cincinnati Reds. The game started at noon, so we planned to wake up early to shower and get ready, then stop by the grocery store for sandwiches and drinks, eat and drink on the L down to the game, have further drinks at the game, sing "Take me out to the ball game" in the seventh inning stretch, get a mouth-watering Wrigley Field classic Chicago-style hot dog, perhaps eat some peanuts with or without the shells, hit up a bar in Wrigleyville for one final bevvie, and then hop back on the L in pursuit of the Connolly household, AC, TV, and sleep. 

But everything did not go according to our plan. Our car was gone. Yet, another was available. But with an alternative route. And the grocery store was not on it. Jac's brother Nick and two of our friends Jason and Judson were also planning to go to the game, so the five of us drove to the train station and instead of starting our day off with coffee and sandwiches, chose whiskey and coke zero. A natural substitute.

We made it down to Wrigley about 30 minutes before the game was supposed to start, and sought out a bar to fuel our bodies with burgers, fries, and of course beers. Most of the boys got the $7 burger basket special, but Jac and I held out--we were waiting for Wrigley. We were waiting for stadium food. We were waiting for our dogs.

After about an hour and a half at the game, fully engrossed in watching both the players and the fans, and slowly sipping on a few local Chicago brews, I came to a realization: Jac and I had yet to eat. (Well, minus the 3 bites of leftover pizza before leaving the house and a singular french fry I stole off of Zerden's plate) Skinny Maddie would say "Way to go girlfriend!!" but Hungry Maddie, Healthy Maddie, Fratty Maddie, and Fatty Maddie usually think one thing: "You have to eat or else your metabolism won't start, and you will die." Thus, I announced it was dog time.

Jac knew just where to go. Down two flights of stairs, around the corner, and hang a left, and we entered into what appeared to be a restaurant inside the stadium, complete with chairs, tables, napkins, and more--No ketchup stains for us! I headed straight to the cashier and ordered myself a beef dog, topping it off with sauerkraut and grilled onions, then garnishing with ketchup, mustard and tomatoes myself...and clearly adding fries on the side. Go big or go home. This was supposed to count for breakfast and lunch after all... The dogs were up in a matter of minutes, but they were down in a matter of seconds. So satisfying. So delicious. So necessary. 

"Is my biggurl happy?" 

"Mhmmm.....sreeewww hppee."

the last supper...or brunch rather

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 6:00 AM

We had everything planned out. Marybeth and I wanted to go out with a bang on our last day in New York City, so we did our research, marked down times, picked out places, and went to bed early so we'd be well-rested and rearing to go the next day. The plan was this: go to the Maroon 5 concert on the Today Show at 5:30 AM, grab coffee along the way, make an appearance on national television, stay till around 10:00, and then walk 3 blocks west to a brunch spot called Nook, where we would bittersweetly enjoy one final feast of quiche lorraine, apple cinnamon pancakes, or scrambled eggs with roasted red peppers and goat cheese, all served with rosemary hash-browns and fresh squeezed orange juice. Oh yeahhh.

We met at Rockefeller Plaza at 5:35 (okay, so we were 5 minutes late...but at that time of morning, with subways running much less frequently, and Thursday night's drinkers stumbling and mumbling home, who wouldn't be a little late?) and quickly found the line for the show. It was 2 and a half blocks long and wrapped around the plaza. Whoooa Nelly. Luckily, Marybeth and I were unaware of the extreme length of the line when we initially entered it, so we hopped in, craned our necks for a view of the end, and happily and excitedly chit-chatted for the next hour until we finally made our way to the concert: across the street, and behind the stage from the concert, actually. A+ spots. Really.

Our plans to get coffee while waiting in line fell through. We foolishly assumed that at least one Starbucks would pop up at some point during our wait (there does happen to be one on every single block in the city--especially in tourist-laden areas like Rockefeller Plaza) but we were wrong. So after standing across the street from the concert and actually behind the stage for 2 hours without any caffeine in our systems, and after listening to a group of middle school kids shout "hello!" or "good morning!" to every single business person rushing to work, and after topping it all off one girl's particularly screechy and out-of-tune rendition of "Misery" by Maroon 5, we were in misery. So we left our first class seats and sought out a Starbucks. Ahhhh... Coffee, comfy seats, and classic tunes from Mumford and Suns streaming in our ears was the perfect remedy for our weary bodies. We returned to the crowd with rejuvenated attitudes, waited another hour for Maroon to finally come on, listened to 2 songs and then gave up. We'd been up since 4:30 AM, so come 9:45 we were hungry, our feet were achy, and we were more than anxious to sink our teeth into something...anything.

When we arrived at Nook with huge smiles on our eager faces at 10:15, we were greeted by chairs turned upside down on the tables, a mop leaning against the bar, and a grouchy Australian man who condescendingly informed me that they would open at eleven--for lunch. But brunch? Brunch was only served on the weekends he scoffed and then waved us away. Stupid Americans. For the umpteenth time that morning, we were forced to alter our plans, so Marybeth and I sought out a diner to nourish our weary souls. Cosmic Diner was just a block away and boasted a slew of breakfast specials--omelets with toast and hash-browns, giant stacks of pancakes, and a variety of egg scrambles--and judging by the large crowd already inhabiting the inside, we figured it was a safe bet. We were right.

Diner Food...yummmmm

Marybeth and I both toasted to our summers in the city with a mimosa, then ordered omelet specials to fill us up until dinnertime. I obviously was drawn to the California omelet, with two of my absolute favorites, mushrooms and avocado, plus swiss cheese, while Marybeth got the Denver omelet, loaded with peppers, onions, and cheddar cheese. I was pleasantly surprised to see that my omelet was actually brimming with both mushrooms and avocado, as the latter ingredient tends to get skimped on frequently because of it's higher price tag, and Marybeth's omelet looked like the perfect ratio of veggies-to-eggs. Wy to go, Cosmic Diner--you know how we like it. Both came with a pile of hash-brown potatoes, mixed with green peppers and onions, and two pieces of wheat toast. We gobbled everything down, barely leaving a crumb on our plates, and barely any room left in our packed tummies. 

I was sad to say goodbye to both New York and Marybeth that morning, but I knew I would be seeing both again in the future--obviously Marybeth sooner than New York seeing as she is from Nashville and we're planning to cook a feast together soon. Luckily though, later that afternoon I was heading for the land of deep-dish pizza and hot dogs with all the fixins; I was Chicago-bound once more. And I was glad to be leaving one big city and heading to yet another. 

a falafel farewell

Tonight is it. It's my last night in the city. My last night to go big before I go home. My last night to drink one last Manhattan while actually in Manhattan. My last night to go to a swanky club, dance to some totally rad beats, and move my body until my brow is glistening and my feet are screaming. It's my night to go out with a bang and have one last delicious dinner to cap off my time here in New York. No, I didn't go crazy, I didn't drink a few Manhattans, nor did I dance to mad beats. But I did kill it with one last dinner. Damn straight.

I can't actually take the credit for finding such a delicious place for such a delicious price on my last night in delicious NYC. But my good old friend Sarah Buchanan can. An expert at finding great eateries and a whiz at seeking out deals in any form or fashion, Sarah knew what to eat and where to get it. She and her fiancé Chris just moved from their teensie apartment in Astoria, to a brownstone apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and I was determined to get a peek before taking one giant leave of absence. Of course a get-together with Sarah isn't ever complete without some sort of nibbling (or gorging if we're in that kind of mood) so we decided to seek out a falafel spot 20 blocks from her apartment. We walked, talked, and talked some more, and then we ate. It's what we do best!

SoomSoom is a vegetarian bar that was actually voted by New York Magazine in 2010 as the best vegetarian place in New York in the "cheap eats" category. Living the unpaid intern life in one of the most expensive cities in the world, I'm always game for food that is cheap--but if I can get the best food that is cheap, then you've just made me one of the happiest unpaid interns in New York.

Sarah and I got to SoomSoom around 7:15, and were both greeted with a complimentary falafel ball. Immediately I liked this place. The only thing better than cheap is free. We scarfed the falafel down and very quickly decided what to order--with only 8 seats in this tiny establishment, and just 2 of them available, we were determined to make them ours. I stuck to my guns and ordered the falafel sandwich with hummus, but Sarah tried the sabich sandwich, which includes fried eggplant, hard-boiled egg, and boiled potatoes stuffed inside a pita. Both were ready before we the cashier could give us back our correct change, and we hungry gals were chomping at the bit to load our pitas with goodies from the open "salad" bar and get to our seats. Once we sat, the conversation didn't go much past "Mmmmm....orhw meh garwd...srrew grud."

Pros:
1. My dinner cost me $7.00
2. The pita was light, fluffy, and perfectly spongy--plus it was thick enough so it didn't rip. Best pita ever.
3. Self-serve access to the veggie toppings and yogurty sauces on the salad bar
4. The location is about 53 steps away from the 1-2-3 Subway line (at 72nd Street). Talk about convenience!
5. I had fabulous company!

Cons:
1. The pita opening was quite small, not allowing for maximum topping mixage throughout the entire sandwich--veggie toppings were only a first-half-of-the-meal deal
2. Sarah claims that the eggplant, being the main reason she opted for the sabich over the falafel, was very sparse throughout her pita...she only recalls one piece!
3. SoomSoom is in New York City. Therefore I will be unable to return any time soon.

A scrumptious steal, Sarah and I scored with SoomSoom.

*Note to readers: Although this is my last night in New York City, this will not be my last blog post. I have 20 hours remaining before I board the plane to Chicago--HELLO other big city!!--and what do you think I'm gonna do in the meantime? Starve?? Marybeth and I have brunch plans tomorrow. That's what's up.

the Brooklyn Schmorgasburg

It was Saturday morning at 9:30 and I woke up from a solid slumber to my phone buzzing on the bedside table next to my head. Normally I would be irritated by someone texting me on a Saturday before 10:00, however when I looked to see what all the fuss was about, I found a text from Marybeth awaiting me in my inbox. And the message was all good.

"Whatcha up to? We should go to Brooklyn's schmorgasborg! Check it out online- its like a mini food market!" Brooklyn- yes. Market- yes. Food???- yes.That was all I needed to hear. I was in.

I had no any set going-ons on my agenda for this beautiful and slightly scorching Saturday, so I was thrilled when Marybeth informed me of her plans and invited me to accompany her. I had yet to visit Brooklyn and had been hoping to get over there at some point, and this wide open Saturday turned out to be the perfect opportunity.

I met MB and her friend Allison on the L train and we zipped right under the water over to the other side: Brooklyn. When we emerged from the steamy subway, we found ourselves smack-dab in Williamsburg, a part of Brooklyn that reminds me of one of my favorite places in Nashville, Hillsboro Village. But on steroids. A very hip vibe, endless cute and quirky ships, delicious restaurants, and trendy people clad in fedoras and skinny jeans, carrying non-Starbucks coffee and snacking on organic, farm-raised, low-calorie, high-flavor, soy, hand-mixed, brick-oven baked scones--or something like that--were the visions that bombarded my wide eyes, which were luckily hidden by my sunglasses. I was in love. This is my place.

We walked towards the waterfront in the blazing heat and were thankfully greeted with a nice breeze as we landed at the Brooklyn Schmorgasburg, also known as the Brooklyn Food Flea Market. This foodie paradise runs from about 10 in the morning to 5 in the evening, so by the time we arrived at 2:30, the crowds had already pounced, and vendors' selections were dwindling; we marched forward undeterred and filled our bellies with the best of what was left. Heck, I was actually glad to see items crossed out on certain menus--it made my options fewer, and therefore made my selection a bit easier.

Concho's Fish Taco 

The Brooklyn Schmorgasburg hosted many traditional food stands which sold the likes of doughnuts, lobster rolls, tacos, pizzas, ice cream, and hot dogs, however I also spotted vendors selling delicacies like crepes made out of everything-soy, traditional tempeh, sweet kale juice, and my personal least favorite Bon Chovi, an anchovy stand. Those were easily passable. Although I was drooling at the lobster roll from Red Hook Lobster Pound, I couldn't quite stomach the $16 for a sandwich, so I held out for something a little closer to my price range. I crushed a fish taco from Conchos which very much reminded me of my beloved fish tacos from Baja Burrito in Nashville. The taco--at $5 a pop--was made of beer-battered cod on a corn tortilla, served with red cabbage, cilantro, white sauce, and a lime. Delicious, but I think I prefer Baja's 3 fish tacos for $6.25. I tried a bite of Marybeth and Allison's café olé doughnut from Dough, which was the size of a small tire, yet had a light and fluffy cloud-like inside, and a coffee glaze on the top. Oh baby. I decided that my treat would be a milkshake from the Grilled Cheese people but they were already sold out; I turned to ice cream but wasn't really in the mood for cardamom ice cream, as that was all that remained. Thus, I did another round, re-read the menus, and decided on something completely different: a pupusa.

Traditional Bean Pupusa

What on earth is a pupusa (poo-POO-suh) you ask? I didn't know either. A traditional food from El Salvador, pupusas are grilled corn masa patties that look similar to a tortilla, but are hand shaped and also stuffed with various fillings like meats, beans, cheese, or veggies, and accompanied by homemade salsa de tomate, and pickled cabbage called curdito. Yum! I asked the pupusa vendor which to try, and he told me that any of the traditional ones would be my best and most delicious bet. I opted for the bean pupusa, stuffed with both beans and cheese, and accompanied it with "all the fixins." When my pupusa was presented, I was handed a perfectly golden-brown patty with peeks of black and brown beans popping through and oozing out the sides, turning brown and caramelized, and adding a bit of tasty crunch. The bright pink cabbage, plus sour cream, jalapeño peppers, and tomato salsa definitely added a necessary pop of color, brightness, and zip to what I originally thought might be a rather beige snack. After taking pictures of my pupusa (obviously), walking through the windy grounds to find a shady spot to eat, and being shooed away from our original spot by a police officer, I was able to eat my pupusa in peace.


The pupusa was reminiscent of a bean empanada in flavor, but seemed kin to a heavy, cheesy cornbread in its texture. It was crispy on the outside, slightly gooey on the inside, and the cabbage and salsa added both a freshness and a nice contrast in texture to the dish. My pupusa would have tasted even better had it not undergone the endless photo shoot and a long, windy journey to find shade, however I enjoyed it nonetheless, and was glad to have tried something completely new. Not to mention I got probably double the amount of food I received for my one taco, and this only cost me $4! Score.

Of course there were about a zillion other things I wished to have a taste of at the Brooklyn Schmorgasburg, but while my pants were ripping at the seams, my wallet was certainly not. A lose lose situation for me, but a happy camper I remained. I wish I could save up my weeks earnings (wait what??) and head back to the Schmorgasburg this weekend with $16 in my pocket for that divine lobster roll, or $9 for one of those artisan milkshakes, but alas I am leaving the city. Therefore I urge you city dwellers to step out, go across, and venture into Brooklyn for the Food Flea Market. Make your mark, and make the mark I wish I had time to make.

the lap of luxury

Breakfast in bed. It’s the trademark of relaxation and luxury, the ideal mother’s day gift prepared together by your 5 and 7 year-old children (according to Hallmark’s TV commercials), and frankly, something that I think is a little overrated. When was the last time I had breakfast in bed? Never. When was the last time I ever wanted breakfast in bed? Never. Ok, maybe when I was like 7 years old, but that’s basically never. Of course our beds are comfortable, and of course it is often hard to haul your body out of that fluffy cloud of warmth on a cold, dark morning when you’re having super sweet dreams, but I think that staying there and actually eating in your bed is very un-desirable.

breakfast on a tray - classic

Have you ever tried eating—especially drinking—while lying down? It’s a disaster waiting to happen. In order to actually enjoy a sip of coffee, you have to be certain it isn’t steaming hot so as to protect your puckered-out lips from blistering while attempting to slurp the drink into your mouth on a 45 degree angle. Do I want to drink luke-warm coffee? No. 
Do I want to burn myself? Certainly not.

Orange juice is a little easier because temperature isn’t necessarily an issue, however little dribbles are sure to seep out of the corners of your mouth and end up dripping, slowly but surely, down the side of your chin and onto your favorite sleep shirt. Cereal milk, pancake syrup, and little bits of your scrambled eggs are bound to fall off of your eating utensil and onto your body as well. Laundry time.

Needless to say, breakfast in bed isn’t a dream of mine. However this past week while staying in the SW Marriott Country Hill Resort and Spa, I had a breakfast in bed of sorts that suited me just fine.

Because I didn’t actually eat in my bed, but rather on the couch sitting just to the side of it, ordering a delicious breakfast of whatever my heart desires, having it prepared while I shower, and then brought to my room on a tray with a smile (and some semi-awkward small talk) was a fabulous way to begin my day. For the past week, I’ve been in San Antonio at this huge resort for the culmination of my internship with Sherri, the senior event planner for Wolters Kluwer—a tax and accounting company having their mid year sales meeting. I helped to register and direct attendees, made sure everyone knew when and where they needed to be, made everyone feel warm and welcome at all times, and ate and drank very well along the way.

Throughout the week I was fortunate enough to sample to all of the delicious meals that the attendees were treated to each day, but prior to their arrival I mainly noshed on room service’s finest. Day one I chose a breakfast special: fresh berries and yogurt, Special K cereal with milk, a toasted English muffin with peanut butter and jam, a small pot of coffee, a glass of fresh orange juice, and a petite blueberry crumble muffin. Jumping from eating a rice cake with peanut butter on my bed while checking the weather on my laptop to eating continental spread with a couch, a coffee table, and Matt, Al, and Ann was a welcome change.

On day two I decided to order something a that would make me feel more virtuous so I went for the “pastel omelet,” a mainly egg white omelet with fresh herbs folded in and roasted tomato with sea salt, a pot of coffee, a glass of orange juice, and a cup of pineapple, grapes, honeydew, and my beloved cantaloupe. Not bad, my friends.

As for the rest of the days, we employees helped ourselves to the attendees’ breakfast buffet once they’d had their fill and made it into their first class at 8:00, lending us to a variety of pastries, eggs, frittatas, sausage and bacon, jams and jellies, and any other breakfast staple you could imagine—but kicked up a notch. The food was delicious, however my eyes were always bigger than my stomach, and I missed listening to the Today Show instead of the drone of the escalators next to the office.

I thought I hated breakfast in bed. I thought it would be messy, and hard, and uncomfortable. I thought I would spill and make a mess and get irritated real quick. But alas, I found a new way—a more deluxe way if you ask me—to enjoy this luxurious trademark. The service, the comfort of your own room, and although I love to cook, the lack of effort that goes into enjoying a delicious breakfast this way definitely tickled my fancy.

chicarbonara and the chicken fight

I don't feel like I've been doing enough traveling of late. After spending a semester abroad in Barcelona--with trips to Paris, Prague, Milan, and Madrid--then returning to the US and heading straight to Oxford Ohio for Jac's graduation, retiring to Nashville for a tick just to shed some lbs and turn 21, then popping up to New York to spend the summer, and peppering my time there with a week in Florida and a weekend at the Cape, plus anticipating a week in San Antonio with my internship, I've been feeling a little cheated; I need more travel. Therefore, this weekend I decided to jump on a plane and head over to Chicago to stay with Jac and spend some time in the Windy City...well the Windy Suburbs I guess.

Jac and I decided that this weekend was going to be lazy: no dressing up, no big nights out on the town, no fuss; just a lot of watching movies and golf, catching some rays and a nice breeze by the lake, and as is necessary when you have a real, big, fully-equipped kitchen at your disposal, cooking a couple of delicious dinners.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again: he's picky. As we were discussing what we were going to make for dinner on Saturday night, every idea that I tossed out was met with a big fat "NO" from Jac. No to salmon, no to chicken, no to pork tenderloin, no to Mrs. Meador's pasta, no to lasagna. No, no, no, no, no. After calling up both of our mothers for help with dinner ideas and decision making, we finally decided on a type of pasta that is a take-off of one of my favorites, which we call Mrs. Meador's pasta. This dish is a simple mix of sausage, cream, arugula, parmesan, and of course pasta. For our dish however, we substituted the sausage with bacon--because let's be honest, who doesn't love bacon?--added a shallot and some white wine for a little extra sum-sum, and left out the arugula...because the spinach we thought we had in the refrigerator and were going to use as a substitute had since gone bad and was brown and runny. Ew.

The Chicarbonara Pasta (which is the name I have since decided upon because of its similarity to pasta carbonara and because it was created while in Chicago) was a big hit and it was gone in a flash. Leftovers didn't last long, and Mr. Connolly--typically not a pasta lover--even requested that Jac add it to his dinner repertoire for repeat offenses. Yes, we bickered a bit about what to make for dinner, but in the end everyone was happy. Night #1 - success.

Fajitas were on the menu for night #2 and I was planning to remake a recipe I'd used earlier this summer and received high marks from the Teren men; "These might be the best fajitas I've ever had, Mad!" my dad told me. I was certain that the Connolly men would feel the same. Fajitas are easy, fast, delicious, and the perfect opportunity for Jac to show off his grilling expertise...or so I thought. I imagined he would be thrilled at the prospect of impressing me on the grill, however Jac had different plans in mind as far as the preparation of the chicken goes. Jac was 100% convinced that in Mexican restaurants the fajita chicken is cooked on the griddle along with the peppers and onions, therefore giving the chicken more flavor. I, on the other hand, was convinced that the chicken was grilled first, giving it a nice char, and then added to the cooking veggies to meld flavors. We were on opposite sides of the fence, and neither Stubborn Jac nor Stubborn Mad were giving up.

True to form, I gave up. I'm such a kind, giving, and selfless girlfriend that I agreed to prepare the chicken Jac's way. We marinated it using my marinade, but he cut it up into small pieces for the marinating process, we cooked it in the pan like he wanted, and even added extra spices from the McCormick fajita-flavored spice packet like he requested. Things were not going my way.

I'll admit I was skeptical. I'll admit things in the kitchen might have gotten a tad heated. I'll even admit that I voiced my doubt and disgust about the spice packet we'd dumped onto our fajita fillings. But I also have to admit that they were good. Really good. Delicious. The chicken was very flavorful, juicy, and tender, and the veggies were cooked to perfection. Jac threw the tortillas into the oven so they were soft and warm, and also laid out a spread of shredded cheese, fresh guacamole, sour cream, and chunky salsa for fajita toppings. Three bell peppers, 4 chicken breasts, an onion, 1/2 lb. of guacamole, and 8 flour tortillas vanished into thin air. There wasn't a crumb left. High five Jac and Mads. Night #2 - success.

Sure, his way was good--cooking the chicken in the pan with the vegetables--but Jac knows that I do not like to lose a fight. So I did a little research on fajitas. And just so we're all clear on this...

A fajita ( /fəˈhiːtə/; Spanish pronunciation: [faˈxita]) is a term found in both traditional Mexican cuisine and in Tex-Mex cuisine,^[1] commonly referring to any grilled meat served on a flour or corn tortilla.

I win.

And she's two for two, ladies and gents!