Just another Sunday afternoon...until...

So here's the scenario: It's 4 p.m. on a Sunday and I'm exhausted.

Happily, Sundays are the closest thing we get to a day off because we close at 3 p.m. instead of 7:30 p.m. Unhappily, after closing we not only have to pick up a few things for the week to come, but I have to perfect a recipe that will be a special this week.

Before you can appreciate my point here, though, I must impress upon you, dear reader, the level of my exhaustion. I describe this not to exact pity, but to drive home the fact that all I really wanted to do with my 3-1/2 hours off was put my feet up (yes, it's always about my feet), turn on a black and white movie and doze on and off while Jimmy Stewart assured me that I had a choice between being "oh so smart and oh so pleasant."

But first there was a matter of chicken and dumplings.

It's not that I've never made chicken and dumplings; it's that I've never made chicken and dumplings for the cafe. But my old standby of dumplings were not going to work for the cafe. Besides, a long time ago I promised one of my sons that I'd master the type of dumpling sold at Cracker Barrel, a less delicate incarnation of its biscuit-like cousin.

So there I am, rolling out dough and feeling rather sorry for myself because I was quite sure the rest of the world, having enjoyed a hearty Sunday dinner, was curled up on the couch napping while I'm relegated to cooking yet another chicken dish that I wasn't even particularly excited about eating.

Dumplings done, chicken roasted and now I bring chicken broth to a boil. And, because I don't work at Cracker Barrel, I decided to give my broth some flavor. Salt and pepper, of course -- ho, hum...but when that rosemary hit the hot broth...holy cow! Suddenly there was nothing -- nothing -- I wanted more than that bowl of chicken and dumplings -- not my much-anticipated lie-down, not a day off, not even a martini.

My entire afternoon was transformed by the simple marrying of rosemary and chicken broth. I know, I know -- most people would say that is totally indicative of how pathetic my life is. I totally disagree; it's yet another example of the transforming abilities of cooking from scratch. Heating up a Lean Cuisine Rosemary Chicken would not have had the same effect. Nor would it have afforded me the pleasure of that magic moment when thin broth morphs into a velvety, fragrant gravy with the addition of a simple beurre manie'. Soon the kitchen filled with dogs and cats and, ultimately, a husband, all following their noses to the source of the heady vapor. (You know that famous C.S. Lewis quote about "we read to know we are not alone?" I cook for the same reason.)

But I go on...

It's just chicken and dumplings, right?