Chicken Breasts in Cream Sauce



by Joan E Thurman
2013-10-20.  Face it, all you female CEO's. Being top executive in an industry dominated by men whose family ownership of major corporations goes back for generations has its advantages and its disadvantages. You've earned your position through precise knowledge of the business, including all its screw-ups and cover-ups, too. 

This has won for you the respect of the booze-soaked old boys, even if it springs from their desperate need to survive in a global economy they no longer understand. They're a bunch of rich dopes. They know it, and made you their CEO, but that doesn't stop them from categorizing you with the hookers on Tenth Avenue when the deal calls for a little sumpin'-sumpin' to land a big account.

Their account acquisition list is topped by a divorced good ol' boy from Texas whose daddy left him with oil-producing properties pumping out a half-million barrels a day. He was ready to scratch the good old boys off his list until he got an eyeful of you. That's when he decided dealing with them just work, and he put the squeeze on them old boys for a private dinner at your place. That just might cinch the deal. 

He's heard tell that you're a Your-a-peein'-trained chef in addition to being America's purtiest CEO. Between your cookin' and gabbin' 'bout the deal, he declares that the two of you can reach an agreement that tucks his company and yours into bed together for a long, profitable relationship.

Any divorced man with unlimited cash, institutional-size portfolio, and 8-figure income who squeezes your Board of Drunkards for a night alone with you is not coming over for the food. The old boys know what he needs. Your associates are more than willing to whore you out for the potential billions it will bring. 

For a bonus payment of six-figures--of course you'll cooperate. You already have the menu laid out--chicken breast in a creme sauce, asparagus, and cassoulet en brioche--real high cuisine. What's that last one? Kind of like pigs in a blanket.  

Now that grizzled Texas oil-man has given a lot of thought to your breasts covered in cream. And the words haut cuisine started his Adam's-apple bobbing like a basketball. He wants the haut, he needs the haut, and if you are the haut, he's ready to eat her even if she is a cousin. 

He shows up at your apartment with a puny case of champagne. We ain't drinking sody-pop tonight, you declare, and pull a bottle of fine bourbon from the case you've purchased for the occasion. After he's finished off the first fifth, he's not so grumpy that the breasts turned out to be chicken. Fact, they's mighty tasty! But he sure is looking forward to that haut cuisine. 

Don't you worry Tex, you say. Once you drink that bourbon up, I'm gonna give you the pie my maw used to make with fresh rabbit for my daddy. She called it Maw's hare pie, and my Paw would eat it all night. 

That brings a smile to his face. Hair pie! That's what he's been waiting fer. 

After Tex has finished off his second fifth, he's looking sufficiently cock-eyed. It's time to swing into action and land this deal. You announce that you're going to change into something more . . . comfortable, and disappear into the boudoir. When you reappear, you are the stuff of Texas wet-dreams: cowboy-boots, cowboy hat, and the shortest see-through negligee this side of 42nd street. Tex's eyes open wide.  Glory be! Is them sparklers you're carrying? 

You lead him into the bedroom, where the lights have been turned down, and tell him to get ready for something good while you freshen up.  You disappear for the briefest moment into the bathroom, and reappear seconds later with some toys. Unbeknown to rich old Tex, you have a girl made up exactly like you waiting for the moment, and she's the one who returns from your quick trip to the bathroom. 

She was one of the sexual torture victims that you liberated from the Old Boys' Club, and tonight for the low fee of $5000, she'll pretend to be you, and give drunk old Tex the rodeo love he's been pining for. You instruct her to start out with a long slow horseback ride, using the client's face as her saddle.  Once she has ridden him out for a few miles, the affair is in her hands.  There is a bottle of Bourbon by the bed, and you instruct her to slake her little pony's thirst by giving him plenty to drink.

The spoiled old buzzard has the time of his life, you earn your six-figure bonus, and even the Board of Directors can't figure out how you managed to swing it. You tell them he liked your cooking.  

Ingredients

1 chicken breast, split and boned, for each human (2 for each man)
2 cups heavy cream
1 Cup Sauternes Wine


Note: Sauternes is a wine grown at and near the village of Sauternes, on the left bank of the Garonne, some distance above Bordeaux--not some poisonous swill labeled "cooking wine" at Walmart.
  • 1 Cup Cooked Mushrooms
  • 4 oz. diced Ham Steak
  • 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
  • 1 teaspoon crumbled rosemary
  • 1/2 stick butter
  • Salt and Pepper
  • White Seedless Grapes
  • 2 oz flour 

Pre-Coronary Procedures

1.  Saute your split, boned chicken breasts in butter until golden-brown.
2.  Remove the chicken and set aside.  Do not discard the butter and crumbles left in frying pan.
3.  Add the half-stick of butter to the pan, and allow it to melt.
4.  Stir in the 2 oz flour and let the mixture bubble for three minutes.
5.  Stir in the Sauterne wine, heavy cream, Worcestershire sauce, rosemary, salt and pepper.
6.  Place the browned chicken breasts in a casserole, sprinkle on the mushrooms and diced ham.
7.  Pour your sauce over all and bake in the casserole dish, tightly covered.
8.  Bake in a 325 degree oven for 45 minutes.
9.  Remove the cover of the casserole dish and sprinkle a cup of halved, seedless grapes.
10.  Return to the over, uncovered for an additional 10 minutes.
11.  Serve on a bed of wild rice.
12.  Be sure to have the phone number for the closest ambulance service handy--especially if you are planning a dessert like the one I arranged for Tex.