From My Cornucopia to Yours

I proudly bring you:


It’s always the manicure that sells food photography, isn’t it?

Ooh, snap, Mrs. Rich Bitch!

Ooh, snap, Mrs. Rich Bitch!

Here’s a frugal recipe for all you social climbers out there. Sad, rainy weather is here, and so’s the recession, so let’s take the dump out of dumplings!

Recipe after the jump.

We Southerners revere this go-to dish as great way to stretch a buck when the cupboard is bare. The whole point of mixing up some Bisquick to drop spoonfuls of the gloopy, carby goo into a hot bubbling broth is to extend what sorry bit of meat you have on hand into an enormous boiling cauldron of food for your whole family. And the dumplings trick your starving child into thinking she got more meat than she did!

But haven’t you heard? The Recession’s over for the rich, if not us Poors. And Mrs. Rich Bitch doesn’t do Bisquick. No ma’am.

She rolls her dumplings out, yo. And then she cuts them into shapes with an elegant little biscuit cutter, with a fluted edge. Because she’s desperately trying to make up for something missing in her life.

And you know what? The dumplings are still dumplings.

Here is the recipe in case you have a Sunday to yourself. But if you don’t and it’s just Monday night? Grab the Bisquick.


Part I:

an organic, college-educated chicken cut into 8 pieces, back discarded
six cups water
a few white peppercorns
a few sprigs of parsley
a few sprigs of thyme
two bay leaves
1 + 1/2 teaspoons of kosher salt
large onion, coarsely chopped, including the onion skins
two small carrots, coarsely chopped
a handful of celery leaves

Bring all that stuff to a boil. Skim the scum off. Then lower the heat and simmer, partially covered, for 45 minutes or until the broth looks nice, and the chicken is cooked.

Pull out the chicken carefully and let cool. When cool, pull the meat off the bones. Discard the chicken skin or treat your poodle, pug, or shitzu. Set aside the meat.

Strain the broth and set aside.

Part II:

2 cups flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon table salt
1 cup milk
3 tablespoons butter
handful of chives, chopped
1/4 teaspoon fresh cracked black pepper

Bring the milk and butter to a simmer. Mix the dry ingredients, pepper, and herbs together. Whisk in the milk and butter. It will be very sticky.

At this point, only bother turning out the dumplings to roll and cut if you have all night, and you are bored, and you pin your self-esteem on such things.

Turn out the dough on a well-floured surface. Cut the blob into three pieces to handle it better. Don’t get overwhelmed, dear! It’s just dumplings.

Roll each section out into a thickness of 1/4″ to 1/8″ depending on whom you’re trying to impress. Cut into strips or use a cookie cutter. You could go with a star shape or maybe a dollar sign.

Lay out your “dumplings” on a cookie sheet, cover with plastic wrap, and set aside. Then yell at the cabana boy to rub your shoulders.

Part III:

7 tablespoons butter
10 tablespoons flour
1/4 cup white wine
one large onion, thinly shaved on a mandoline
three stalks celery, snootily cut on the diagonal
four carrots, evenly sliced
1/2 cup frozen peas, defrosted
1/4 cup cream
pinch of oregano, paprika, cayenne, and mustard powder
1 teaspoon fresh chopped thyme

Okay. Get out your Dutch oven. Melt the butter, whisk in the flour, cook ’til golden brown. Deglaze the pan with the white wine. Pour in your broth. Add your spices and herbs. Cook about five minutes.

Throw in your onions, celery and carrots and simmer until tender crisp, about 15 minutes.

Stir in the chicken and peas, then float your snooty ass dumplings on top to cook them a few minutes. Stir in the cream, sprinkle the parsley, and light your candles. Sit down to a lonely table because no one is there to enjoy it with you.

After all, nobody actually likes a Rich Bitch.


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