Reflections on Doctors and a Chicken Piccata Recipe
by Bella Rum
The ear still aches. As luck would have it, I have a previously scheduled doctor’s appointment this morning. I’ll get her to look at it. I doubt she’ll even know what to do. Primary Care docs are little more than health managers/paper work junkies anymore. Mine barely touches me. I don’t even have to get undressed. She just looks at my ears and throat and listens to my lungs and heart and inquires about any complaints I may have. She makes appropriate appointments with appropriate specialists if necessary and viola, I’m out of there. She’s sweet and I’d like to have her for a niece, but… It isn’t her fault. It’s the nature of the system nowadays. Remember when your family doctor could sew up a cut, treat an infection, mend a limb or lance a boil? When my brother managed to stick a knife in his eye, they took him to Dr. Crawford, not the hospital. No kidding. That’s unimaginable now. And in addition to all that, Dr. Crawford made house calls. I imagine he could carve a mean turkey at Thanksgiving, too.
I made chicken piccata last night. I used a recipe I found on Eating Well. It was a new recipe, and I complained through the entire preparation that I would never make it again, no matter how good it turned out. Even though I thawed, halved those huge chicken breast and pounded them into cutlets earlier in the day, the recipe still took more time, effort and created more dirty dishes than I’m interested in. It turned out to be very tasty, though. The sauce/gravy was delicious on the angel hair pasta. Will I make it again? Not sure. If I do, I will do ALL the prep in the morning. I like simple and fast. Maybe I’ll look for a slow-cooker version. That’s more my speed.
Off to wake H, get coffee and watch a little Morning Joe. He’s tied in knots about Ebola. Why do I keep watching that show? I just can’t get enough… apparently.