From the Chef’s Writing Desk:

There are certain meals that become part of family mythology whether you intend them to or not. Chicken Paprikash became one of ours… and not just because Everett once attempted to lasso a chicken with a jump rope.

It started on a cold Hill Country evening when the boys had been outside too long doing what boys do best: inventing games with absolutely no rules and just enough danger to concern the neighbors.

George, self-appointed “Mayor of the Backyard Republic,” had constructed a frontier town out of overturned flowerpots, broomsticks, and an alarming number of extension cords. Everett, meanwhile, had decided he was a Hungarian cowboy named “Paprika Pete,” which apparently required him to wear rain boots, one leather glove, and a spaghetti strainer on his head “for authority.”

By sunset they came storming through the back door smelling like cedar bark, creek water, and bad decisions.

“Dad,” George announced solemnly, “Everett tried to arrest a squirrel.”

“It resisted the law,” Everett replied.

Naturally, this called for Chicken Paprikash.

There are few dishes better suited for restoring civilization to a household spiraling gently into frontier madness. The onions soften slowly in butter while the paprika blooms deep red like campfire embers waking back up. The kitchen fills with that rich smoky warmth that makes everyone suddenly speak softer and hover near the stove pretending not to be hungry.

George set the table with the seriousness of a railroad baron signing treaties. Everett attempted to garnish the sour cream with crushed Goldfish crackers because “Hungarians probably love cheddar fish.” History may prove him wrong.

By the time the noodles hit the bowls, both boys had gone quiet. The rarest sound a father can hear.

Outside, the wind rattled the oak trees and somewhere in the dark that same squirrel likely lived to see another day.

Everett took one bite, nodded thoughtfully, and said:

“This tastes like if a blanket had a mustache.”

Honestly… that may still be the best culinary description I’ve ever heard.

— Chef Dave Trosko