Ahh, chicken pot pie. My old friend. It's been a while since I have eaten you. Nine months and seven days since I have eaten you, to be exact. Yep, I made a chicken pot pie for dinner on the night that Elsie was born. And needless to say, I haven't really felt like making it again since that night.
I only recently discovered chicken pot pie a year or two ago. I was not very familiar with it growing up, and thought that it was only something that old people bought in the freezer section of the grocery store. When I found this recipe from the Pioneer Woman, I gave it a try and loved it, as did my family. I found out about its savory goodness, the rich gravy mixing perfectly with the chicken and vegetables, and to top it all off, a flaky pie crust. Yum. What's not to like? I often made a batch of the filling and would freeze half of it to make another pie on a later day.
Now, I'm not saying that the chicken pot pie on January 4 caused me to go into pre-term labor. Of course not. And it didn't exactly make me sick, but just the thought of it afterwards made me kinda queasy. It just sounded unappetizing. Somewhat revolting. Almost disgusting. Which is sad, because we used to love chicken pot pie. But I just couldn't bring myself to make it for dinner, until just a few nights ago.
That's right, I faced my fear. I found the courage to make the dreaded chicken pot pie. For the first time in nine months, I found my mouth watering just a bit at the thought of it. And so, I made it. Cooked the veggies, added the chicken, made the gravy. Put the crust on top. And baked it. And then, we ate it.
I totally conquered that pie.