recipe | deep dish chicken pot pie

Before we begin, let's just make one thing clear: if you decide to make this recipe, don't put your pie in the oven and then go outside to play without thinking a thing of it until you hear the oven timer beep. If you do, you might forget to cover the crust of your pie halfway through baking, and then the edges will burn. And then you might say some dirty cuss words because this was for the blog. Oh well.

Despite thoroughly toasted pie crust edges, this is my chance to tell you all how much I love making chicken pot pie, and I'm going to take it. Oh man, I really love making chicken pot pie. I love rolling out the crumbly pie dough on my kitchen table while Ralph, just tall enough for his little face to peek over the top, watches with curiosity. I love standing at the stove and stirring the pot full of vegetables and herbs and flour and broth, waiting for the gravy to bubble and thicken. I love easing the dough into a dish, crimping the pie closed with my knuckle, and poking steam holes into the top with a knife like I watched my mom do so many times,

This wasn't supposed to be a deep dish pot pie on purpose. It happened that way when I read the original recipe wrong a long time ago, and ended up making enough filling for two pies instead of one. Of course I had only made enough crust for one pie, so into a casserole dish it went. More gravy-coated veggies, less crust-- I like it that way. If that's not your thing, cut the filling recipe in half, and you'll end up with a traditional pot pie that fits perfectly into a standard pie dish.

Beyond the 'deep dish' title, this is not fancy pot pie. It has no special ingredients. There's nothing in it that you don't already have in your fridge and pantry. It's good, stick-to-your-ribs, pour-a-glass-of-wine-and-use-up-that-leftover-baked-chicken pot pie. And it's just as comforting to make as it is to eat.

Deep Dish Chicken Pot Pie

Ingredients:

2 packages refrigerated pie pastry (I love Trader Joes' dough,) or your favorite double crust pie dough recipe (I love Martha's basic pie dough)
2 cups diced and peeled potatoes
4 medium carrots, peeled and sliced
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large onion, diced
1/2 cup flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
3/4 teaspoon pepper
4 cups chicken broth
4 cups cooked chicken, cubed
1 cup frozen peas
1 cup frozen corn

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Place potatoes and carrots in a large saucepan, and add water to cover. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and cook, covered, for 8-10 minutes or until vegetables are crisp-tender; drain.

2. In a large skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add onion, and cook until tender. Stir in flour and seasonings until blended. Gradually stir in broth. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, until thickened. Stir in chicken, peas, corn and potato mixture. Remove from heat.

3. Roll out half of your pie dough and place into a round casserole dish, pressing the dough up the sides of the dish. Add chicken mixture. Roll out remaining dough and place over filling. Seal and flute the edges. Cut slits into the top of the pie to let steam escape.

4. Bake for 35-40 minutes, or until lightly browned. Crimp aluminum foil around the edges of the pie to prevent burning, if necessary. (!) Let sit for 10 minutes before cutting.

for the birthday boy

Our little Ralphie is turning two on Wednesday, and I've got birthday on the brain. Planning for his day this year has been noticeably different from last year, since I'm less concerned about making things picture perfect and much more interested in making his eyes light up all day long. We don't have too much on tap for the day-- his favorite breakfast (bacon, oranges, and oatmeal with sprinkles,) a long hike to see the fall colors, and a family dinner in the evening.

Ryan and I are fairly certain that we could give him the toy vacuum of his dreams first thing in the morning and call it a day, but being that he's our only dear child who deserves the moon in our eyes (You want the moon, Ralphie? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down, etc.) we've of course bought a bit more than that. Just for fun, I put together a little list of the gifties we've gotten (and a few things that I wish I could get) for our sweet boy.

A wooden firetruck, complete with a ladder, steering wheel, and-- the very best part-- a tiny hose. | A sweet keepsake to tuck into his baby book. | A darling old-fashioned hat, to keep small ears warm, and to pass down to future siblings. | The toy vacuum of his dreams, so he can stop pretending with a plastic cart and a loud "eeehh" sound. | A new book, so we can practice our animal sounds and how to lift the paper flaps gennnntly. | A train set, because I couldn't resist. | His very own pair of fuzzy slippers, so he'll stop stealing mine every morning. | A wooden rocking horse for singing rousing renditions of Pony Boy on, after mom's knee gets too tired. | Beeswax birthday candles-- just two-- for making wishes.

night

In our house, evening begins the minute Ryan arrives home from work. As soon as Ralph hears Ryan pull the car into the driveway, he gallops to the back door, shrieking with laughter and pumping his arms into the air. Nothing I do all day long receives that kind of reaction from him, yet it happens every time Ryan walks through the door. Sound the trumpets, dad is home!

Sometimes I imagine Ryan having to take a deep breath before he opens the back door and steps into the kitchen. Like a box of chocolates (or something) I don't think he ever knows what he's gonna get. Some days the room is warm and lived in-- lights are on, pots are steaming on the stove, toys are scattered on the floor and Ralph and I are waiting for him with smiles and a Hi Daddy! How are you? Other days I have two babies in my arms, chopped onions and garlic sit on the counter-- that's as far as dinner has gotten-- and the little hairs on the sides of my head have frizzed out from juggling housework and children all day. Sometimes he walks into a dark kitchen that looks the same as it did when he left that morning, only messier. On these days he is usually greeted by a face that says Please take the baby, let's get out of this house, I don't care where, I'll go anywhere, especially McDonalds. 

Ten minutes later, Ryan is changed out of his work clothes and I am still in the kitchen, trying to salvage supper. This is when things get rowdy. I wait until I can't ignore the bumps and thumps and squeals coming from the living room any longer, and then I yell Go outside! feeling very much like a mom.

I call the boys back in once supper is on the table, and then begins the nightly struggle of trying to get Ralph to eat more than three bites of whatever I have lovingly (or hastily) prepared. This part of the night never goes very well. I won't elaborate.

When we're finished, we give thanks for our food, and then Ryan gives Ralph a bath while I tidy up the house. I pick out small, soft pajamas for my baby to wear. We laugh while he runs through the hall, bare bottomed and delighted about it. We get him dressed, we pick out a book to read, we snuggle, we talk, we laugh, we sing songs, we say prayers, we kiss his cheeks and lay him down. We turn off the light, we close the door. We high five.

Most nights there's a little energy left to do the dishes and talk in the kitchen, just the two of us. Now that cooler weather is here, we call it a night pretty early. Ryan likes to watch TV or read, and I usually head upstairs for a shower or a bath with water hot enough to make my skin itch. Sometimes I knit. Sometimes we watch Jimmy Fallon and have drinks and stay up late. I scroll through my instagram feed and try to keep my eyes open. When one of us starts to fall asleep on the couch, we decide its time. And then we go to bed, always together, every night.

read about our morning, here.