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Note: Since this recipe is featured on the Food Network episode this morning, I’m bringing it to the front for easy reference. This really is one of my favorite recipes here on The Pioneer Woman Cooks, and I regularly hear from people who’ve made it with great success. Crowd-pleaser! This is an exceedingly yummy, decadent pasta dish with chicken, vegetables, and lots and lots of scrumptious carbs. It’s a cinch to throw together, and if you don’t have prepared Cajun spice in your cabinet, you can just throw a few spices together to make your own combination.
A couple weeks ago, I had a fantastic warm asparagus salad at a nearby restaurant, one I immediately swore I’d make at home. It had segments of white and green asparagus tossed with goat cheese and a tarragon and lemony mint vinaigrette and it was piled on a bed of red endive, my favorite. It was stunning. It was delicious. Alas, this is not it. What a tease I am, right?
The other night I took delivery of two huge, fragrant garbage bags full of basil thanks to Julia of Mariquita Farms . I gave half of it away at my book signing, the other half we plucked and pureed into a grassy, green pesto. Earlier this year a friend came to visit from Genoa Italy, her mom taught us her homemade gnocchi recipe.
Ah, is there anything sweeter on earth than having your punk-ass little sister visit? Mine’s visiting this week, which means I’ve totally regressed back to childhood and the water’s great! We’ve sipped wine, laughed until we’ve experienced stress incontinence, and cooked until our fingers are pruney and falling off our hands.
This really is a fabulous casserole, and the only one in existence that Marlboro Man, our cowboys, and my children will eat. It’s officially called Chicken Spaghetti, but because of my addition of Cayenne Pepper, Marlboro Man took to calling it "Mexican Chicken," which isn’t its proper name at all, but what’s a woman to do? There is a lot of "stuff" in this casserole, but the way I ensure widespread acceptance and bliss by those I serve it to is to keep everything diced very small and to season it adequately. And I’ll show you how to do just that.
I’m sorry. I know, this isn’t right. Not fair. Totally cruel. We’re just weeks from bathing suit season and this here is no friend to lycra. But I had to.
Raise your hand if you love recipes with the word “Bake” in the title. This is a classic old recipe shared with my mom by her friend Betty Daley. I always loved it growing up, but the first time I made it for my own household years ago, it was met with mixed reviews. The original recipe calls for quite a bit of sour cream, and since my nuclear family is a little sensitive to large amounts of the stuff, I’ve adapted it through the years to suit the picky palates of the people I live with. Picky palates of the people. Thursday morning alliteration for you.
I’m sure everyone has his own favorite go-to lasagna recipe, but I’d just like to offer that this really is The Best Lasagna Ever. Part of its appeal is that the ingredients used are totally basic; you don’t have to hunt down fresh basil or buffalo mozzarella or Parmigiano-Reggiano or handmade sausage from from an Italian mama in old Napoli. Anyone can make this, anywhere, anytime. And it’s the easiest thing in the world. Aside from the simplicity and availability of ingredients, however, this lasagna is just dadgum good . I’ve made this lasagna for various categories of humans since my mom first scribbled it down for me: men, women, democrats, republicans, dimwits, scholars, and foreign dignitaries.
This is yummy. This is simple. This was dinner last night. The kids loved it.
There’s nothing that can be said. But there is much to be eaten. Come, my child…come. I shall take you by the hand and take you where you need to go. I shall show you the food that is solely responsible for my bones and tissues multiplying and growing at a young age.