Just like the previous weekend, my boyfriend and I prepared dinner for ourselves. (We're finally starting to learn how to work together in the kitchen!) The whole healthy-foods idea went out the window, and we opted for a more hearty and fulfilling meal- Chicken Parmesan. And also, like usual, he chose to not abide by a recipe, but rather make it up as we went along. This whole concept of "making it up on a whim" is very unfamiliar to me; and although it's somewhat hard to restrain my need for order and perfection, I enjoy watching my boyfriend in his chaotic impulses.
There was no question as to if we would buy jarred pasta sauce or make our own. We both generally agree that making things from scratch is the way to go (more so in my case, though). What I thought was strange was that my boyfriend insisted on putting mushrooms (which he claims to dislike) in our pasta sauce.
We sweated the vegetables and added the can of crushed tomatoes. Meanwhile, I was still having anxiety attacks because he was not following a recipe, nor has he ever made marinara sauce. After he deemed it the appropriate amount of time, he put the chunky red concoction in the blender, mixed it to a puree, and then poured it back into the pot.
As we let the sauce meld together (hopefully, I thought), I tended to the poor kitchen that got the wrath of his madness. Put a stove and some cooking ingredients in front of him, and my boyfriend turns into the Tasmanian Devil.
Too oblivious to notice I was busy cleaning, my boyfriend moved along and prepared the chicken breast.
After everything was done, we placed the breaded and cooked chicken in a baking dish, smothered it with our homemade sauce, and enveloped the living hell out of it with cheese.
I could tell that my boyfriend really loves me- He made a thoughtful effort to make this dish as cheesy as humanly possible. He understands my need for cheese, even when he himself wouldn't normally care for something that cheesy.
The dripping sauce and the oozing cheese atop the chicken breasts were all neatly placed on our toasted rolls.
All in all I think our meal was a success. I had no complaints whatsoever; the chicken was cooked perfectly through, the cheese was crispy yet gooey, and the sauce was creamy and luscious.
I did however have a comment- which was that the sauce wasn't exactly a marinara sauce. Sure, it looked like it, and with all the other elements it tasted almost like it, but it just wasn't exactly marinara-y. It tasted great regardless, but next time perhaps we should just glance at a marinara recipe to see what ingredients we forgot or what we should take out. Nevertheless, my boyfriend's ingenuity never ceases to amaze me; example being that he just made his own mock-marinara sauce.