Chipotle Chicken
Jacob bought a book recently called “Discover
Rhode Island: An AMC guide to the best Biking Hiking and Paddling.” Ever
since, we have been taking short excursions in the evenings - hiking the trails
of southern RI and gearing up for longer backpacking, camping and kayaking trips
later in the summer. Our woodsy amblings have been beautiful and invigorating,
but they don’t leave much time for cooking. By the time we get home,
it’s usually close to 9 and we’re famished. Harried dinner
preparation ensues.
I bring this up
because last minute cooking encourages short cuts, and the one I (somewhat
ashamedly) used last night was serendipitous indeed. I’ve been on a
Mexican kick lately, and was bent on making a chili-lime spiced grilled chicken.
I had forsight enough to start the chicken marinating before I left for work in
the morning, but had not planned for the sauce. My recipe-of-choice called for
rehydrating dried ancho chilies and then blending them into a creamy sauce to
top the chicken – a process that I am still eager to try, just not while
in hiking boots and teetering at the edge of starvation. I opted instead for a
bottled chipotle (chi-POTE-lay) sauce, mass produced for my convenience by
Tabasco.
Chipotles and anchos seem to
have a lot in common, making this substitution a likely success. They are both
known for their smoky, sweet, almost chocolaty flavor and their relative
mildness. On the Scoville scale - which measures spiciness by the level of
capsaicin found in a pepper - both rank low. Capsaicin is a natural compound,
concentrated in the veins and seeds of peppers, that stimulates your nerve
endings and makes you think that you are in pain. Anchos contain about 1000
Scoville units; chipotles about 5000. They may give you a pleasant tingling
about the lips. In comparison, habaneros, the world’s spiciest chili
peppers, contain up to 400,000 Scoville units. At that level, your brain is so
convinced that you are burning alive, that it releases large amounts of
endorphins into your bloodstream, producing a vague sense of euphoria. Kind of
like morphine. Capsaicin is serious stuff – even for brave explorers of
southern RI.
So, chipotles. Chipotles
are actually jalapeños that have been dried and smoked. In the process,
they release their characteristic sharp, crisp, bright, acidic notes and reveal
their deep, smoky, moody, mellow undertones. Translated literally, chipotle
refers to any smoked chili pepper: the word derives from
“chilpotle” in the Náhuatl language of the Aztecs, where
“chil” meant hot pepper and “potle” came from poctli,
meaning smoked. The word apparently was reversed somewhere along the line, as
it originally was spelled pochilli. In any case, Tabasco was kind enough to
dry, smoke, rehydrate and blend some jalapeños for me, so all I had to do
last night was tip the bottle. Happy, happy
day.
First I made some guacamole,
because, well, what could be better? The chicken that had been marinating (in
lime juice, soy sauce, veg oil, sugar, rosemary, oregano, chili, cayenne, and
garlic) was slapped on a hot grill. I then mixed up some chipotle sauce with
the lovely product mentioned above, more lime juice, mayo, brown sugar,
rosemary, oregano, and cumin. I dipped a couple of corn chips in it to taste.
Delicious. Creamy and smoky, quietly buzzing with spice, and fresh with lime.
It went brilliantly with the chicken, which had taken on an almost carameled
exterior on the grill, and together they produced a mouthwatering combination of
sweet, tangy and spicy. Interspersed with cool munches of chips and guac, it
was much-appreciated nourishment for two weary adventurers.
Posted: Fri - May 14, 2004 at 03:48 PM