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Darcy's Chicken and Dumplings

3/25/2015

2 Comments

 
Last week I featured Ada's Banana Pudding recipe and a snippet from my new book SLOW AND STEADY RUSH. Next up is my heroine Darcy's Chicken and Dumplings. This is definitely a Southern favorite.
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A RT Book Reviews
TOP PICK!!
"....marvelously funny, engaging, and memorable in a place where everyone knows your name."

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Darcy’s Chicken and Dumplings

Southern style chicken and dumplings are easier than you think and great for weeknight dinners. Kid and hungry, single hero approved.
2 celery ribs, diced
3 carrots, diced
~5 cups chicken broth (of course, Darcy makes her own, but store bought is fine tooJ)
1 tsp Poultry seasoning
½ tsp pepper
3 cups chopped cooked chicken (for a quick weeknight dinner use a ready-made Rotisserie)

Dumplings:
1 ⅔ cups of baking mix (Bisquick or Darcy prefers Formula L Biscuit Mix by Southern Biscuit)
⅔ cup milk or buttermilk

1.     
Sauté celery and carrots in large Dutch oven coated in cooking spray or teaspoon of oil for ~6 minutes or until tender.
2.      Stir in broth, poultry seasoning, and pepper, bringing it to a boil.
3.      Stir together baking mix and milk/buttermilk until blended. Turn out onto floured surface. Roll dough to ~1/8 in thickness. Cut into strips. Drop strips into broth.
4.      Stir in chicken. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 8 minutes.

SLOW AND STEADY RUSH (Teaser with chicken and dumplings!)

A comfortable silence gathered around them. Chicken broth heated while Darcy rolled out dumplings.

“I ran into Robbie at the Pig. The man looks like he’s living on frozen pizza and pot pies.” Darcy cut dough and dropped it piece by piece into the broth.

“I’m sure he’s been missing my dinners,” Ada said.

“What do you mean?”

“He would check on me conveniently right around supper time. I got into the habit of inviting him in. He turned me down the first few times, but I told him if he was going to keep taking out my trash and mowing the grass, he’d better accept food as payment.”

Darcy stirred the dumplings and half-turned to see her grandmother. “Did he talk much about himself? About family?”

Ada barked a laugh. “He didn’t talk much at all.” She paused. “He hasn’t had a lick of family visit.”

Logan’s comments about Robbie’s lack of mail in Afghanistan added to the resonating sadness she sensed behind his gruff exterior, and an ache that had nothing to do with hunger gnawed at her stomach.

After finishing the pot of chicken and dumplings, she spooned a large serving into a bowl. Pulling out the last slice of pie, she slipped on tennis shoes and started down the lane to his house.

His truck was there, and she almost turned around. No, she could do this. She knocked on the front door. Nothing moved. Relief punched the disappointment to the pit of her stomach. Indecision had her wandering the length of his porch and peeking in the windows. If she left the food outside, varmints would be on it in no time.

She jiggled the knob, and the door swung open. Calling his name, she stepped over the threshold, tensed for an attack. The house felt empty. She continued into the kitchen and set the food on his stove. Since she was here, a peek into the den wouldn’t hurt, would it?

A few magazines covered a scuffed coffee table. To Kill a Mockingbird was splayed open on an ottoman. Everything was surprisingly neat and clean for bachelor quarters. A single picture was propped on the mantle in a cheap-looking plastic frame.

With a glance toward the front door, she moved farther into his domain and took down the picture. It was a young Robbie in a gold-and-purple football uniform. A middle-aged man stood at his side wearing khakis, a whistle hanging around his neck. The man had an encompassing smile and kind eyes. His hand lay on Robbie’s shoulder pads. The teenaged Robbie already wore a protective, hard look on his face. Unsmiling, he stood apart and alone.

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2 Comments

Ada's Banana Pudding

3/16/2015

1 Comment

 
The first of my Falcon Football books, SLOW AND STEADY RUSH, is on the (virtual) shelves! I'm so excited, and I'd thought it'd been fun to feature a few of the recipes I talk about and a snippet of the scene that features the food. In the coming months leading up to the release of CAUGHT UP IN THE TOUCH, Book 2, I'll even give you a couple of previews of the next book. Logan Wilde is a chef, after all. I have a newsletter signup at the right if you're interested in more information. Check back next Wednesday to see what's next...
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RT book reviews
TOP PICK.

"...a marvelously funny, engaging, and memorable romance in a place where everyone knows your name."
Ada's Banana Pudding
This is labor intensive, but once you’ve had Ada’s version, you’ll never be satisfied with instant pudding. Ada and Darcy both recommend eating while still warm. Leftovers can be refrigerated. And if you even mention marshmallows or meringue, you will not be invited back for seconds! (A printable version is available HERE.)

1 cup sugar
½ cup all-purpose flour
½ tsp salt
2 cups milk
1 tsp vanilla
1 tbsp butter
4 egg yolks
1 box vanilla wafers
4-5 ripe bananas

1.     Layer ½ box of wafers and ½ bananas (sliced) in bottom of 9X13 baking dish.
2.     Combine sugar, flour, salt and mix well.
3.     In saucepan, beat egg yolks well. Start over med-high heat.
4.     Add dry mix and milk. Stir constantly.
5.     When mix reaches pudding consistency (takes 10-15 minutes), remove from heat and add butter and vanilla.
6.     Pour half on wafer/bananas. Layer with remaining wafers and sliced bananas. Pour remaining pudding on top.

Enjoy an excerpt of SLOW AND STEADY RUSH

His mouth descended. Even though he accepted that he should keep his hands off, his subconscious refused to abide by the logical commands. His tongue coasted along the length of her full, soft upper lip before he pulled it into his mouth. She tasted sweet, like the banana pudding behind her.

He deserved a slap, half-expected one, but instead she delved fingers into his hair and knocked his baseball cap to the floor. Her body melded with his without any encouragement from his hands, which were free to wander up and down her back.

Surrendering to the madness, he shoved the banana pudding to the side and lifted her to sit on the counter, their faces level. Her knees parted, and he stepped into the void. Her heels on his butt pulled him tight against her. God, she was little, but curved and soft and all woman. He pressed into the fullness of her breasts.

Her skirt rode high, an invitation for his hands to coast up bare, silky thighs. He accepted. They moved under her skirt to her hips. The callused tips of his fingers caught on the smooth, satiny fabric of her panties. Her tongue slipped into his mouth. An involuntary groan rose from his chest before he returned the favor, curling his tongue against hers. She pulled at his shoulders, her fingernails scratching through the cotton of his shirt.

He’d kissed her for a very simple reason. He wanted to. His anger and hurt had given him the excuse. It would have been better if she’d been outraged and slapped him away, shamed him out of this attraction. Instead, she turned into a wildcat in his arms. He wanted to shove her panties to the side and tame her.

Avery growled from the door. Could the dog sense Darcy was an imminent threat to Robbie’s sanity? He broke the kiss and heaved in slow, deep breaths. She blinked languorously, her pupils dilated, as if waking from a dream. Her lips were swollen and rosy, and color slashed her cheeks. He wanted her bad. A lurch of fear rocked his stomach, and he threw up walls to protect himself.

+++

Robbie’s kiss stole all logical threads of thought, hurtling her into a territory where only sensations were processed. His soft hair under her fingers, the hard planes of his chest against her breasts, the rough denim abrading her inner thighs, his hands squeezing her hips. But, mostly, his lips and tongue as they worked her into an aroused frenzy.

His mouth drew away from hers, and she floated in the tumultuous aftermath. His face was cast of stone, any sort of gentleness she’d felt in his kiss not reflected in his frigid eyes or frowning mouth. He slid his hands down her legs to pry her ankles from around his hips.

He left her to teeter on the edge of the counter, legs spread wantonly. Forces of nature held true no matter the tipping of her world on its axis, and gravity pulled her to the floor, knees wobbly and hands shaking. After roving his gaze down her body and back to her face, he turned and moved toward the door.

His sudden pivot back made her inhale sharply. In two steps, he had her bracketed between his arms, both his hands on the counter. Their bodies were so close, his heat, his desire pulsed like a living thing, yet he didn’t press into her or touch her in any way.

“I want—” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said, ending on a hiss.

She wanted it too. Wanted him more than she’d ever wanted a man. She’d never felt this needy, this wild. Her legs rocked open, and she rose on her toes. She craved the touch of his hands. He could take her here or carry her to her room. It didn’t matter where he claimed her. It didn’t matter who saw them. They inhaled in synchronicity. She tilted her face to his . . .

“. . . my damn pudding.”

His tensed bicep brushed her sensitive breasts. He tucked the casserole dish under his arm like a football. Performing a militarily precise about-face, he stalked to the door. Avery cut off mid-growl, his head swiveling between them.

A potent combination of anger, lust, and humiliation jolted her body into action. His cap lay on the floor and she kicked it, launching it to the ceiling. Avery caught it on a jump and loped after Robbie. He stopped to retrieve it from his dog’s mouth and mashed it on his head. Avery received a stiff, but gentle pat. Man and dog disappeared around the corner of the house.

She stared out the screen door. A breeze rustled the roses climbing the trellis, the scent at odds with the bile climbing her throat. The spray and crunch of gravel under spinning wheels unstuck her. She picked up the nearest thing to her hand and hurled it at the screen. The overly ripe banana splattered on the floor, leaving a goopy, sweet-smelling mess.

Damn him to hell.

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1 Comment

    Laura Trentham

    Author of Historical and Contemporary Romance


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