Chicken Pot Pie: Universal Health Care at its Best

So tonight, at the request of my oh so eager roommate, I made my scrumptious Chicken Pot Pie. I say it is scrumptious with such assurance because I was proud of myself for my ingenuity as a new pot pie maker. My first endeavor with pot pie began late in the summer before my freshman year at University. The freshest vegetables were just at market and the Texas sun was still withholding its hottest rays to let us autumn junkies have our one last fix. I sped to the market one afternoon with a mind to purchase all things in miniature: micro greens, small organic carrots, fingerling potatoes (of various earthy colours), pearl onions, snap peas, broccolitini, and sweet corn. All these I planned to tuck neatly into a quaint ramekin lined with a feather or two of philo dough, a perfectly rounded slice of emmentaler, a bit of stock reduced in a garlic roux, and of course the chicken!

As I child I loathed any sort of dish slightly reminiscent of a casserole one might find on a church potluck line up and unfortunately pot pie was in this category. I still do not understand why I associated pot pies with such nasties as casseroles, they are very distant cousins at best. The basic components of a true casserole includes some sort of noodle, a creamy liquid (usually a canned mushroom soup of sorts), an undefinable meat substance (i.e. ground beyond belief beef, boiled chicken shreds, or the dreaded canned cat food, I mean tuna) and either an over powering salinity similar to the Gulf of Mexico or a complete void of salt. Pot pie, usually, lacks all of these dreaded characteristics, yet I couldn't bring myself to even a forkful. I shut myself off from the mysterious world of labeled Tupperwares and crusty overcooked pan corners only to exempt my misinformed palate from such wonderous things that could happen as a result of a steaming doughy pot pie.