Last week we had some unseasonably warm temperatures. When my husband saw the forecast, he suggested grilling one of those nights. When my husband says, “Let’s grill tomorrow,” it somehow gets twisted between his mouth and my ears into, “I’d like to cook dinner tomorrow,” so I was all cool with that plan. He picked up the charcoal, dug out the utensils, and all that jazz. I set out the food that I wanted him to grill, even some foil packets of potatoes. Without even going outside, I assumed that he had an unnecessarily large fire, since that’s the way he rolls. Cleverly, I dug some chicken out of the fridge and asked him to grill that, too. He wasn’t so excited about it, but he even got out the thermometer to make sure it was done. After we ate, I put the chicken in a Ziploc and tossed it in the fridge. A day or two later, while chopping vegetables for something, I grabbed the chicken and chopped it, too, and put it back in the bag in the fridge. I used some for a salad and remembered I don’t particularly like cold chicken.
The other day, I dumped some chicken into the skillet, tossed in some red pepper and onion, and heated a few minutes. Then, I grabbed a couple tortillas and put a little cheese on them. I plopped the hot food on top and heated a couple more minutes. Plate them, top with some lettuce, and it’s a crispy, hot chicken and veggie wrap. Tasty took five minutes and I even put the kid down for a nap while I waited.