Today is my dog’s fourth birthday. And while I’m tempted to get out my glittery markers to make him a hat, I think he’d prefer kisses and a fistful of meat instead.
What’s this I’m hearing about a hat?
Last night I made a super delicious chicken dish, and I saved some chicken scraps for him. Maybe we’ll sing “Happy Birthday” and make it a proper celebration with candles and everything. (I need help. Clearly.)
Or maybe we’ll just go for a hike and snuggle on the couch together.
I hate snuggling. Just give me chicken.
If you want to know why he’s so fixated on the chicken, here’s why:
It’s somewhere under that pile of pears, cilantro, and celery. I swear.
I found the recipe in this great gallery of 22 Paleo-friendly recipes from Bon Appetit.
I’ll be honest, though, I didn’t really follow it closely when it came to the ratio of lime juice, cilantro, celery, or pears. I just piled it all on. (I look at savory recipes like speed limits — polite suggestions for minimizing mayhem and mishaps.)
So basically my version just goes like this.
Celery, Cilantro, and Pear Chicken with Lime
4 celery stalks, sliced
2 Asian pears, thinly sliced
A heaping pile of cilantro leaves
Juice from 1 fresh lime
2 chicken breasts
Olive oil
Sea salt and fresh cracked pepper to taste
Season the chicken breasts with salt and pepper. Don’t bother pounding them. I think it yields a negligible benefit, frankly. Cook the chicken breasts in a cast iron skillet with a little bit of olive oil — in the stove at 350 or on the burner — whatever your preferred method. (I’d give you cooking times but my stove is whack so it wouldn’t be useful. Just don’t overcook them. Chicken seriously sucks when it’s dry.)
Meanwhile, slice the pear and celery. Squeeze lime juice over the sliced stuff, throw in cilantro, and season with salt and pepper to taste. (This limey salad can be made the night before if you’d like. It’s almost better the next day, actually.)
Remove chicken from heat, cover in fruity, veggie lime mixture. Devour.
And maybe save some of the chicken scraps for your birthday boy.
You owe me more than scraps for this, woman.
