chicken + rice

A few days in a row I had the ever-faithful chicken stew – so plain, so homely.  Each evening I would take a few ladles from the casserole, into a little pan to heat.  By the last day I had one scrappy portion left, with plenty of stock and vegetables and a scrawny thigh – but no potatoes.  I brought this scrappy remnant to boil, then threw in half a cup of rice and covered it for ten to fifteen minutes, by which time I had perfect chicken and rice.  Some seasoning and a dab of mustard and I had the tastiest, savoury, filling and soul-filling meal ever.  For the absolute minimum of effort.  

Sometimes I pretend someone else has cooked it for me so I can work late, or do battle with a briar patch, then say ‘how glad I am I don’t have to cook!  And can just sit down to some nice chicken and rice!’.

As you can see, I ate it in the patio-jungle of blue weedy flowers, with a cup of mediocre red wine. 

Very. Heaven.