Chicken memories

Two old tastes from days gone past: broiled chicken, and chicken with white wine. I realized, on Saturday night, while sauteeing chicken breasts in white wine and tomatoes, that this was a dish my mother used to make when I was a boy. The taste of chicken in white wine is very distinctive, and must have been a favorite of my mother's generation (I think they discovered chicken marsala about that time, and then paella). It's one of those dishes that tastes "fancy," but is incredibly simple to make -- basically, you brown chicken, then add a cup of white wine and some chopped tomatoes, turn the heat down low, and sautee until the chicken is cooked. Presto, instant karma.

Tonight, I baked a chicken which, again, is not something I've done for years (although Christine has been cooking it for a while). As I did, I remembered my father, following my mother's instructions, baking chicken for us those nights that she was out teaching. I wish I had those instructions, however. For some reason I thought it would take me no more than 20-30 minutes to bake the chicken. No chance! It took an hour and a half, and that was for a small chicken. I don't know what I was thinking. We ate our baked potatoes first, then our salad, then Lulu devoured the chicken which was moist, and tender, and perfect -- almost as good as my dad's.