Editor’s Note: We spent all this goddamn time yakking about artichokes and porcupines, when in actuality it is National Poultry Day. Sheesh! Maybe we’ll share a recipe for chicken meatballs on National Porcupine Day to make up for our transgressions. But I digress. This recipe is taken from our buddy, Adesina’s Kitchen, and we’ve left it pretty much intact, with the exception of a curse word or two. Enjoy!
Off topic, we’ve entered this recipe into the March Blog Hop for the website Recipe Lion. If you guys vote us into success, we promise to take our tops off and swing ’em high above our heads in victory.
Treating Your Birdie Extra Dirty
Artichokes are like the porcupines of the veggie world, except they are much easier to prepare than roadkill.
Where the fuck were you that porcupines were roadkill?!?
What?! They are slow as shit. They take about as long to cross the road as it takes to steam a fucking artichoke.
And you still didn’t answer my question, you nut job!
A woman never reveals her age, natural hair color or her most interesting travel destinations. Nor the true origin of her fur coat.
So because I’m all about solving mysteries, I’m going to infer that it happened that one dark and stormy night when you tried to escape that oppressive tryst with that Exotic Animal Smuggler and in a fit of rage, accidentally ran over his pet porcupine with a stolen Lamborghini…
You’re frighteningly close to the truth. I may have to kill you…with a stuffed zucchini. It’s the perfect crime.
*yawn* Whatever you say. Can you just wait until I finish eating my chicken piccata? These capers are to die for and I’m already over your porcupiney past.
HAHAHAHAH! You dummy!
Chicken Piccata with Artichokes and Capers
1/2 c. of olive oil
1 tsp. of dried thyme
2 cloves of minced garlic
1/8 tsp. of black pepper
1 c. of chicken stock
1 1/2 – 2 lbs. of chicken tenders
salt and pepper
6 tbs. of butter
2 tbs. of olive oil
1/2 c. of fresh lemon juice
1 1/2 c. of chicken stock
3.5 oz jar of capers
1/4 c. of chopped parsley
Preheat the oven to 400°. Grab a casserole pan and mix the olive oil, thyme, garlic, black pepper and chicken stock into a hedonistic orgy of a marinade.
Now, to attack your chokes – pluck all of the outer leaves in a game of he love me-he loves me not. By the time you are at the tender, pale yellow center leaves, you should realize that a) you are done plucking and b) who gives a shit if he loves you are not. Lob off the top of the artichoke, Lorena Bobbitt-style, leaving the stem and about an inch of the tender yellow leaves. Clean the baby up using a paring knife or a veggie peeler to peel off the outer layer of the stem and then trim off all but one inch of the stem. Halve the artichoke and use a spoon to take out the fuzzy choke – you want that baby clean and bare. Quarter the artichoke and roll the pieces around in that gorgeous, lemony marinade. Repeat with the remaining artichokes.
Cover the casserole dish and bake the artichokes in their lemon jacuzzi for 45 minutes, or until extremely tender.
When the chokes have a mere 15 minutes left on the clock, make your chicken. Season the chicken tenders liberally with salt and pepper and then dredge in flour. Heat a skillet over high heat and add three tablespoons of butter and the olive oil. Brown the chicken in the hot oil until seared and lovely and set aside on a plate. Add the chicken broth and lemon juice to the hot pan for a little sizzle, scraping up any browned bits. Add the chicken back into the pan along with the capers, and allow the sauce to thicken a bit, about 2-3 minutes. Right before serving, remove the chicken to a serving dish and top with the artichokes. Add the remaining butter to the pan and stir to thicken the sauce – because you know we love a thick sauce. Add the parsley and give it one last stir before topping the chicken with the sauce. Eat a delicious bite in celebration of the party that is happening in your mouth right now.
Just make the braised artichokes with vegetable stock instead of chicken stock and toss the suckers with some penne and pecorino romano. Or leave out the cheese entirely for a vegan supper of epic awesomeness.