Grandma Mary's Stewed chicken

In honor of my grandparents anniversary, I wanted to make something special to bring their memory into my house. One thing I distinctly remember eating at my grandmother's table, was her delicious chicken stew. We would soak up the gravy with bread until every last drop was gone. Everything from its hearty ingredients to its orange color make it the perfect fall/winter comfort food.

Ingredients:

8 peices of chicken (legs, thighs, breasts)

3 cans of tomato juice (3 cups)

4 chicken bullion cubes 

4-6 potatoes 

4 carrots

2 cups of water 

3 cloves of garlic, sliced 

1/2 a medium onion, diced 

1/4 cup White wine 

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp pepper 

Serve over white rice, with bread on the side for dipping. 

Instructions:

1. Peel and cut all your ingredients. Cut the potatoes into either a halfmoon or cube shape. Cut the carrots into coins or logs. Set aside. 

2. Rinse your chicken peices and pat dry. Set aside.  

3. In a large pot, add enough olive oil to cover the bottom of the pan with a thin layer. 

4. On medium heat, add your garlic and chicken. 

5. Brown the chicken. Mix with a wooden spoon until all the chicken peices have been browned in the oil. 

6. When a nice color appears on the chicken skin, add in your cut vegetables. 

7. Add in your tomato juice, wine (optional), water, salt, pepper, and bullion cubes. 

8. Stir well to rotate the ingredients from the bottom to the top. 

9. Continue to cook on medium-low until the chicken starts to fall off the bone, and the potatos and carrots pierced easily with a fork. About 2-3 hours. 

10. Enjoy! 

Behind this recipe:

Mary and Mike were one of the most vibrant couples you could ever meet. Mike was a handsome World War II medic just returning from his service overseas. Mary was an independent woman who left her home to start a new life in NY. They both found work in a local travel agency. Fireworks went off when his blue eyes met her dark brown. They were married September 25, 1949. They had 3 children, and lived happily in Astoria, NY. They were married for 53 years. 

Mike and Mary may have been destined for each other, but they were meant to be grandparents. They were our constant companions. In the winter months, we would visit for dinner and spend the day while our parents were at work. In the summer all 7 grandkids would go with them to their Florida home. Our sunny summer days were spent lazily enjoying each other's company by the pool. And on rainy days it was a mad house.

     A beautiful, unforgettable madhouse. We would hide in closets during thunderstorms, perform plays, have fashion shows and set up stores around the house. We would collect things: the toothbrush holder, soap canister, and buckets of paint from the garage, and sell them back to grandma one by one. But everyday she played along, and every night we sat together. We would eat our cherry nut ice cream and watch Nick at Night- oblivious to the heat lightning that lit up the Florida night sky. We hadn't a care in the world; It was the golden period of our lives.

In 2001, Mike passed from a heart attack. Mary immediately developed Alzheimer's, rapidly progressed through her grief. She would find herself walking down Astoria Blvd with a suitcase and nowhere to go. It was a sudden rip that cut so deep, and left us all in shock. Our world as we knew it was over. Nothing was left but immese sadness and a giant memory that developed into a shadow. Although he is gone and she no longer remembers, I can remember everything. Their voices, their smells, the feel of grandma's sweater with the Lacoste alligator in the corner... 

   Making this dish, and carrying it to the table I am reminded of grandma. I can picture her carrying out a big pot from her Astoria kitchen and placing it onto the yellow embroidered tablecloth. I remember the feeling of being in that dining room: the sounds of Jeopardy on the tv, the finished crossword pushed to the far end of the table, the savory smell of the food...and with my first bite, I am taken back, and I am with her, as if nothing ever changed.