Thai Coconut Peanut Curry Sauce Chicken Rice

My Hungerlust is an insatiable beast that must be macerated. This is my favorite discipline tool. Convenient, relatively cheap, and much more satisfying than an evening out at your favorite Thai restaurant. How I would bathe in coconut milk. Folks, this is flavor country, where some of the most robust and powerful tastes in the natural world run free, wild, and easy. After a day of zippity-doo-dah-esque outdoor sheephearding, with stellar jays hopping my shoulders alternatly and humming gin and juice, the embers of my appetite began glowing brighter. I developed the fire down below, a state or condition perhaps necessarily attributed to Bob Seger. I had a fever, in other words, and the only cure was so much more coconut milk. I imagine streams of it, flowing swiftly out of a meadow, the banks of the stream lined with peanut butter mud, studded with rounded halved peanuts. This is all mighty cool and stuff, until a crazyeyes Gene Wilder outcreeps me (admittedly a difficult task), defensive about his coconut milk pipeline. The struggle for precious natural resources continues, even in the candy realm.

Curry paste is the savory hand turning this planet. That, and innumerable other cosmic forces, the nature of which are impossible to describe to you here, and are the reasons we are able to enjoy sunshine and moonshine, and any other words with a -shine -suffix too, I don't know. So, the stuff is the world's flavor maker. I'd say that green is my favorite, but that's like trying to discern which Skittle tastes the best, though much more nuanced. I'm not offering any analogies. Complexity abounds with the curry pastes, inherently...it's paste of many persuasions, joining forces against bland food, forming an unstoppable Voltron of righteousness. A mash up of much, pungent and alarming, almost caustic.

Peanut butter is friend I almost never call. After I get enough subconscious text messages from peanut butter, I inevitably feel guilty, and want to reconnect simply for being so neglectful. And I am almost never disappointed with that decision; in its absence, an unfillable void develops. I ask you, for what substance can be substituted for peanut butter? What else has that unique peanut butteriness? The reason I seem to take it for granted now is because it talks so much, and speaks so loudly. That is to say that it dominates whatever it touches, enveloping, smothering, shy and subtler dance partners, clumsily. I have never been one to eat it out of its jar with a spoon, because I'm human, and am not a monster. People who do that with mayonnaise are not really people at all either, they are shadow people who've withdrawn from life and do not care about anything at all anymore. This is especially true if done whilst alone you are. Its hard to be a Jedi when you've got a mouthful of mayonnaise or peanut butter. Never ever use mayonnaise for anything. Its not real. But it is really gross.

This how I establish the triumvirate of taste:

I make rice, something I can't ever seem to do well. I can't mimic the Thai places yet, but I'm getting better. Of course I don't have a rice cooker. It seems as though I am unable to purchase a kitchen appliance with one sole function. Years of advertising have convinced me to demand more and expect greater new and better things from kitchen appliances, a brave new world or pixar movie or whatever. I am as amazed to find that man put a giant space telescope in the sky, one that takes crazy pictures from far away dimensions of imaginary fake galaxies, as I was to see a device that had the capacity to toast bagels. Truly extraordinary and purposeful objects to be sure.

Then I get largeish sauce or saute pan, or whatnot, and I heat up a can of coconut milk and a can of coconut creme. I know that you thought that there wasn't anything as desired as coconut milk, bu there is and that's what I'm talking about. Coconut Creme. Believe that shizz. When that's all nice and steamy, get some curry paste out and add that stuff to taste, probably more than usual for a normal curry because peanut butter is conversational vortex, and we don't want it to get too out of hand at the flavor after party. We have to set some ground rules. When that dissolves adequately, answer the door. Its peanut butter time. Go ahead and get chunky with it, because its time to dance. Twirl it around until it develops or sauces out, but don't let its peanutbutteriness enchant you into asking for a second dance.

Chicken. It goes in. Ought be reasonably pieced or shredded. If you don't have some already cooked chicken meat in the fridge, you weren't invited to this party in the first place. Go get a rotisserie bird from the deli, for mad cheap. If you have ethical problems with that meat, I suspect you are guilty of moral relativism in other instances, and are certainly a hypocrite and self-righteous narcissist of Voltronic proportions, but in a negative way. But it is even cooler if you cook your own bird. Both of those topics are different posts though, which have a lot of offspringing ideas each requiring the posting of the blog.

Now throw some brown sugar at me. Yeah. That's right on, and I like it. More. Really any sugar would do, but perhaps not. I wouldn't do it differently, because what's to gain? You're seriously telling me that you are not taking brown sugar to the park to meet up with Mr. Peanut butter? Are you insane? You jest. Those two have so much fun together. But this also may help to slap down a superheated ultra curry, down for public consumption, near tastenothing people. I go strong to the hole with that heat, and typically draw an offensive foul.

I spread out some rice on a plate and I add a double layer of spinach on top of the rice futon that I've created. Then I add the awe inspiring sweetness that has chicken swimming in it right on top of that spinach rice futon. And I garnish with peanuts and cilantro typically. Why spinach? I've seen it done, and its a stand up guy. Ask around.

Then devour with power, gustatory gusto, savor it out load. It's okay to moan and even make all sorts of noises in expression. Cooking is expression, and in many ways, so is eating. You could eat while break dancing interpretively.