Cafe Rio Chicken Salad recipe

For those of you who have lived in Utah and since moved away, I'm sure you'll agree with me the number one reason to move back to Utah would be for the Cafe Rio Chicken Salad. If you're like us, far away and craving the salad, here's the best imitation recipe I've found. If you know of a better recipe leave a comment.



Café Rio Creamy Tomatillo Ranch Salad Dressing
1 bottle fat free ranch dressing
2 tomatillos (tomato like vegetable with a husk around them)
½ bunch of cilantro
1 clove garlic
Juice of 1 lime
1 jalapeño (Use the seeds too if you like it spicy. You could substitute a few drops of green tobasco for the jalapeno.)

Use a food processor to blend all the ingredients well. Refrigerate.

Cafe Rio Chicken
1 small bottle Kraft Zesty Italian Dressing
1 T chili powder
1 T cumin
3 cloves garlic—minced
5 lbs chicken breast

Cook all together in a crock pot for 4 hours, shred meat and cook 1 additional hour.

Café Rio Rice
3 c water
4 t chicken bouillon
4 t garlic –minced
½ bunch cilantro
1 can green chiles—or equivalent fresh
¾ t salt
1 T butter
½ onion
3 c rice

Blend cilantro, green chiles and onion together in food processor. Bring water to a boil and add all ingredients, simmer covered 30 minutes.

Pico de Gallo is easy just chop up some tomatoes (I usually use roma), white onion, jalapeno, cilantro, and add some sea salt and fresh squeezed lime.


Put it all together in this order:
Fried flour tortilla
Rice
Beans (black or pinto)
Chicken
Green leaf lettuce
Pico de gallo
Shredded cheese
Crushed tortilla chips
Creamy tomatillo dressing
Sour cream
Guacamole

A poem written by a Russian Mormon convert dedicated to his missionary

Who are you boy, for a boy you are,
journeyed to this land of ours?
This land where I've endured my days
and fell oppression kill my soul
and force me into some tight mold
and teach me that I should not hope
unless I care to smell the smoke,
of dreams that the Red Army tamed.
Who are you boy, from this land of plenty,
teaching of God if there is any?
You have all, we have none.
Do you know what that feels like, son?
And yet, you ask me to believe
in something that I cannot see,
some force you say will bring me joy.
Do you know what that feels like, boy?
Where you're from faith is free,
but it has a price for me.
When I have pain I have my bottle.
Hurt dies quick when you down it in vodka.
That's enough to warm my soul.
I work I sleep, the days go by,
I'm waiting for the day I die.
You don't understand this place.
You say believe, obey, have faith,
live life well, serve and give.
Here in Russia, we just live.
Who are you boy? Why did you come?
To serve a soul who once was numb.
To teach a wretched, hateful man
who cursed your life, refused your hand.
I thought that we were worlds apart,
so how is it that you knew my heart?
A fraction my age, you calmed my rage.
Mercy paid my generous wage.
I should have been left behind,
it is hard to love my kind.
Hope in your heart, power in your hands,
why did you com to this distant land?
I know now, it was for me.
The red curtain fell, but I was not free,
until a boy from nations away,
brought me my Lord. I bless the day.
He led me to weep at my Master's feet,
the American boy, I met on the street.
New and naive, still in his teens,
with a message to bring the world to its knees.
I thought that the truth would come form another,
I did not know this boy was my brother.

- written by a Russian Mormon convert to his missionary from Payson, Utah