The Two Alexs

Another entry in an occasional series of family recipes.

We knew Dad was making olive chicken when the smell of olives cooked in oil and butter started filling the house.  I remember that smell better than almost any other; I can almost smell it now, even though I can’t describe it and know no other like it.  It tempted me to snag olives from the white and yellow porcelain pan he always cooked it in (easier as I grew older and didn’t have to wait till he wasn’t looking); though the chicken was soft and juicy, the oily, tender olives were the star of the meal.  It’s one of the most memorable recipes he made, and though I rarely asked for it specifically (I was a kid, and pizza was always more glamorous), it was always a treat to discover him cooking it on a weekend or holiday.

I recently asked Dad to give me the olive chicken recipe when he was visiting Alex and me in California recently.  Though timing prevented me from making it for him, I made it the next day for the two of us.  Unlike past recreations — Bubbe cookies, Thanksgiving mushroom barley soup, or my Dad’s pasta sauce — this meal, olive chicken, turned out true to memory.  It smelled, it tasted, just like like I remembered (and got a big thumbs-up from Alex).

At Dad’s request, I’m not including the recipe in this public post.  Don’t worry, though.  Not only can any and all of you, our faithful readers, feast your eyes on the photos of our meal, you’re all welcome to come over to our apartment anytime to try this delicious recipe for yourselves.

The Seal of Approval

Any recipe with this much butter has to be good!

Exhibit 2, "Chickens"

Exhibit 3, "Olives"

At this point, start stealing olives.

Enjoy!

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