Crispy Chicken Skillet With Artichokes, Beets, Lemon & Olives

Oh, hey there. Long time no chat. Where have you guys been? Oh, wait. You’re saying it’s my fault we haven’t talked in a while? Correct. Guilty. I’ll fill you in on the gaps. I got glutened (oof!). Got better. Got the stomach flu (double oof!). Got better. Made crispy chicken in a skillet. Now, we’re all caught up. That’s the really quick version. The longer version involves unsavory details, profanity and drinking my weight’s worth in liquids. The same pair of  large grey sweat pants adorning my hairy unkempt legs. Also, I’m totally caught up on all the trash television. So, if you wanna gossip about what’s happening on The Bachelorette — I’m your girl. Don’t even get me started on the guy who claimed to be an Amateur Sex Coach. The whole thing just makes me feel really weird. Also, if you’re not watching Married At First Sight, I don’t know what you’re doing with your life. Probably living it. I should probably take off these grey sweats and join you. This chicken is a step in the right direction. Chick it out. Get it? Like, check it out… but, with chick, because chicken puns. You’re welcome to throw stuff at me now. Or, if you want it to really sting, just silently yet aggressively face palm in my direction. Good. That’s perfect.

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One-Pan Crispy Chicken Legs & Brussels Sprouts {Gluten-Free & Paleo}

Brussels sprouts, oh how I love thee. It’s taken us a long time to get here, but I’m so glad we did.
When I was a kid, I was fairly certain Brussels sprouts were evil. These were clearly tiny cabbages made of nightmares, sent here to earth by aliens  in order to slowly poison us humans (I’ve always has a slight flare for the dramatic). It’s not that my parents were forcing me to eat them. Quite the contrary. We never ate sprouts at home, ever. I think my parents were also skeptical that these lil’ veggies weren’t indeed just the devil neatly disguised in a tiny cabbage suit. If my mom (the Lima Bean Pusher) was skeptical of a vegetable, I was pretty sure it must be  heinous. The only time I had fully experienced the Brussels sprout was through a friend. I was staying the night at friends house, and her mother insisted I eat my vegetables before I left the table. I thought, sure. Fine. I love veggies. This should be no big deal. And, then it happened. A slotted spoon emerged from a pot of lightly stained green liquid. A mushy pile of lifeless sprouts made a sad little mountain on my plate. These sprouts were boiled to disaster. They were bitter and mushy. I had entered into my own nightmare, and the only way out was with hasty large bites and a lot of water. Awful.  […]