There’s a lesson here.

 

The blog has been on the forefront of my mindbrain all week, though I have little show for it in the way of recipes. There will be  all kinds of things coming to fruition tomorrow night, but what good does that do for my need to post on Friday? Little to nothing, that’s for sure.

I came up with what I thought was a fail-safe super delicious meal planned for Tuesday night. I was so excited. Mediterranean Stuffed Chicken Breast. Sounds lovely, right? Maybe it could have been. Maybe one day it can be. Sadly, Tuesday’s version was a bit sub par.

I take full responsibility, I do. It was later than I liked, seeing that dinner was at least an hour away; therefore there was a bit of rushing. (I was also pretty worn out from yoga and my reflexes are a bit off afterwards. Just ask Tex about the two tacos I dropped on the floor the following night.) When I’m in a hurry, I take shortcuts that I wouldn’t normally take (and certainly do not advise). Like using your hand to steady the chicken breast that you’re splitting with a sharp knife (don’t do it!). I painfully realized this mistake with the knife slipped across the raw chicken breast and into my left thumb. Blood, salmonella, it was a mess. While I bandaged my thumb (and tried not to pass out), Tex took over the remaining chicken cutting duties.

I still stuffed, yes I did. However, injury muddied up my brain and I forgot to add a bit of acid to offset all that salty brine. The original plan was kalamata olives, goat cheese, spinach, and tomato, with lemon slices on top. The actuality was kalamata olives, goat cheese, and spinach. Oops.

It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t close to what I wanted. The cooked olives had a very strong smell, too strong for me. On the bright side, the cheese was good, and the leftovers made a nice sandwich when tucked into a toasted pita with a little light mayo and champagne mustard. Still, there was a little too much of something for me to really love it.

Next go ’round…Brie, tomato, and bacon? Now that’s a flavor profile I want to be apart of all day long.

The moral of this story? Don’t take shortcuts of the dangerous and unsanitary variety. It just leads to a week-long bandaged thumb and a disappointing dinner.

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