Saturday afternoon, I was pondering over what to cook for supper. I hate making that decision. I would be so much better off if someone just told me what to cook and then I would do it. Scanning the freezer for something easy, I saw frozen chicken breast. The brilliant idea popped in my head to attempt to make a Moravian Chicken Pie. This idea was not quick NOR easy. Now I have never made one of these before, but I thought, "how hard could this be?" So after finding the perfect recipe, I set off to conquer it. After mixing the crust, baking the chicken, rolling out the crust, shredding the chicken, and assembling it all, I thought it at least LOOKED like a chicken pie. The test would be the taste. So when John got home, I took the pie out of the oven and told him supper was ready. He wanted to know what church I had bought the pie from. I proceeded to tell him I had made it, not some Moravian Church. He didn't believe me (even after pointing out the dirty rolling pin and pile of dirty dishes). So evidently, after trying it, he liked it. At least that's the impression I get from how much he ate.
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