The DHX: The Doughtie Houses Exchange

By Jill Davis Doughtie

Chris and Jack can be pretty selective about what they’ll put in their mouths, chew up and swallow.

I was no exception as a kid. I used to pick every possible fiber of fat out of any chicken I ate, strand by strand, with my fingers. Chicken fat revolted me. I wouldn’t eat butter or margarine because it reminded me of chicken fat. (Not long ago, my dad was telling G about how I used to eat chicken as a kid, and G said, “Used to?” Apparently it’s still not that pretty to watch me eat chicken. But I try not to use my fingers. As much. And I do eat butter now.) I also hated green beans with a stomach churning passion. And tomatoes. And lima beans. My poor mom only tried to feed them to us once, but lima beans burned themselves into my memory as just plain wrong for the rest of my childhood. I like them now.

When I grew up I forgot what it felt like to be a kid at the dinner table. I forgot what it felt like to stare for a long time at something gross on my plate while the tall people who loved me and took care of me — and who I loved — asked me to put this revolting thing in my mouth and swallow it. It was awful!

And now that I’m one of the adults, it’s still awful. I never suspected that as a kid. I’ve made the meal by hand with love. It’s delicious. It’s wonderful. And the kids don’t see how good it is. They reject it! When I was first starting out as a sensitive new stepmom who forgot what it felt like to be the kid in the strange-food-for-dinner scenario, it felt like I was being rejected.

Eventually, I had my memory jogged about what the kid point of view felt like.

Even so, I’ve been known to cry openly at the table over rejected meals. Once or twice.

And to get my feelings hurt over criticism of half-eaten meals. A lot.

We’ve fought over meals. Real fights with yelling. Once or twice.

It’s not easy trying to figure this stuff out.

“One of the keys to cooking,” Jack told me helpfully one day, “is to follow the directions carefully.”

I’d over-cooked one of the frozen meals they’d officially agreed that they liked and would eat. On the one hand, it was so absurd that it was funny. On the other hand, I was tired. I was cooking two separate meals a lot of the time: grown-up meals and kid meals. And I was tired of it. I didn’t want to solve the problem by eating the pre-made frozen food myself. I didn’t want to ask the kids to cook for themselves all the time. I didn’t want to turn all of the cooking over to G when the kids were here, either. I like cooking. I didn’t want to try to make them eat things they were traumatized by. And I didn’t want them to go hungry here.

So my search for meals we could all eat and like — once I realized there were definite differences between kid and grownup palates — started.

My most successful recipe so far is Nigella Lawson’s “Ritzy Chicken.” I love this recipe because I can know where the chicken in it came from, I can make it entirely with organic ingredients if I want to, and to the kids it tastes like fast food. I’ve made a few changes — Nigella calls for smashing and marinating things inside plastic bags and she’s conservative with the oil and buttermilk; here’s my plastic-less, free pour adaptation:

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Ritzy Chicken (a.k.a. “Win Your Stepkids’ Trust at the Dinner Table” Chicken)

• 2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts or a package of chicken tenders
• A cup or two of buttermilk
• Half a sixteen ounce box Ritz crackers, organic Ritz-cracker-like butter crackers or Town House Original Light Buttery Crackers (these work best)
• Bread crumbs (optional — not in the Nigella Lawson recipe)
• A ton of canola oil (she calls for 1/2 cup of vegetable oil — I’ve never found this to be enough)

If you want to tenderize the chicken, put it on a big cutting board and hit it with a rolling pin until it’s thin. This gives the chicken a consistency more like fast food chicken nuggets. It’s not necessary, but it’s nice.

Cut the chicken into chicken finger or chicken nugget sized strips. (And if you’re me, cut off anything white.)

Put it in a bowl. Pour enough buttermilk over the chicken so that it almost covers it all. A cup or two should do. Cover it and marinate it in the refrigerator for up to 2 days, but for at least a couple of hours. I usually shoot for one day.

Crush the crackers into little crumbs with your rolling pin. This works best on a really big cutting board. If you have bread crumbs, mixing in about a cup or so of bread crumbs helps the crumb mixture coat the chicken more evenly and it makes the crumbs less likely to burn too quickly when you’re frying the chicken.

Heat the oil in a large frying pan. I use 12″ cast iron pan, and I pour about 1/3″ of oil into the pan. It’s hot enough when one little tiny drop of water sizzles when you flick it into the pan. (If you’re new to cooking with hot oil, be careful! Water splatters, and you can really burn yourself very badly with hot oil if it gets on you.)

Shake off excess buttermilk from the chicken pieces and roll them in the crumbs to coat them. You can do this on the big cutting board, or if it’s easier, you move the crumbs to a big, shallow bowl and roll the pieces in the crumbs there. Coat them well before laying them gently with tongs in the hot oil. Cook for about 2 to 3 minutes on each side, until golden brown. Transfer to a plate lined with paper towel to absorb excess oil.

Serve with ketchup.

Tags: butter crackers, buttermilk, chicken, feeding kids, recipes, ritz crackers