Arroz con Gandules —rsquo; One Recipe, Six Kitchens, the Line That Holds Forever

The anniversary. Ten years. A decade since Easter Sunday 2017. A decade since the ham timer and the last words and the beginning of everything that came after. I don't go to Mama's kitchen anymore — it belongs to another family now; Curtis sold it last year when he moved in with me permanently (the selling was quiet, private, Curtis signed the papers and said "hm" and the "hm" held forty-five years of marriage and three children raised and one Easter Sunday and one empty kitchen and the hm was the goodbye he couldn't say). But the ritual continues. My kitchen. The Folgers can. The chicken.

This year: Zoe fried the chicken. ALONE. Fifteen years old. She opened the can, she seasoned the flour, she heated the oil, she waited, she fried. She has been watching for six years. She asked to join the ritual two years ago. She made cornbread last year. This year: the chicken. The full recipe. From can to skillet to plate. She fried it and it was golden and I tasted it and it was RIGHT and Curtis tasted it and he said, "Brenda's chicken." He said it to Zoe. To Derek's daughter. To the girl who came into this family at ten years old through a church mixer and a mini golf course and a man by a piano. Curtis said "Brenda's chicken" to a girl named Mitchell who is not Jackson by blood but is Jackson by table, by recipe, by the can she opened and the flour she seasoned and the oil she heated with the patience of a woman who learned from a woman who learned from a woman who learned from a woman.

Ten years. Four women at the stove now (Jasmine via FaceTime from Howard, Isaiah via FaceTime from Charlotte, Marcus via FaceTime from Morehouse — all of them cooking chicken simultaneously, the five-kitchen ritual expanded to SIX). Six kitchens. One recipe. One can. One line. Ten years. The line holds. The line has held for ten years and it will hold for ten more and ten more after that and the holding is the story and the story is the food and the food is the love and the love is: don't stop cooking because of me. Don't stop. Don't ever stop. The stove is on. The table is set. The line holds. Forever.

I share the chicken every Easter in my heart, but this anniversary called for something I could put into words and into your hands — and Arroz con Gandules is the dish that came to me, because it is the kind of recipe that does exactly what Brenda’s chicken does: it carries people. It is a pot that asks you to pay attention, to smell, to wait, to taste — the same way Zoe waited, the same way Curtis waited thirty years before her. If your kitchen has a line worth holding, make this rice. Make it with someone watching. Then step back and let them make it alone.

Arroz con Gandules (Rice with Pigeon Peas)

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 55 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1/4 cup sofrito (homemade or store-bought)
• 2 oz. smoked ham, diced small
• 1 packet (1.41 oz) Sazón seasoning with culantro and achiote
• 1 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 1 can (15 oz) gandules (green pigeon peas), drained and rinsed
• 2 cups long-grain white rice, rinsed
• 2 3/4 cups chicken broth (low sodium)
• 1/2 cup pimento-stuffed green olives, sliced
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• Fresh cilantro, for garnish

Instructions

1. Build the base. Heat olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pot or caldero over medium heat. Add the sofrito and diced ham and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 3–4 minutes until fragrant and the ham begins to lightly brown.
2. Season. Stir in the Sazón packet, oregano, garlic powder, and tomato paste. Cook for 1–2 minutes, stirring constantly, until the paste darkens slightly and coats everything in the pot.
3. Add the peas and olives. Add the drained gandules and sliced olives to the pot. Stir to combine and let everything cook together for 2 minutes.
4. Add the rice. Stir in the rinsed rice, coating every grain in the seasoned base. Let it toast gently for 1 minute.
5. Add the broth. Pour in the chicken broth and stir to combine. Taste the liquid and adjust salt and pepper as needed. Raise the heat to medium-high and bring to a boil.
6. Steam low and slow. Once boiling, stir once more, then reduce heat to the lowest setting. Cover the pot tightly with a lid (or a layer of foil beneath the lid for a tighter seal) and cook for 25–30 minutes. Do not lift the lid during this time.
7. Rest and fluff. Remove the pot from heat and let it rest, covered, for 5 minutes. Uncover, fluff gently with a fork from the edges in, and check that the rice is fully cooked and the liquid absorbed.
8. Serve. Transfer to a serving dish and garnish with fresh cilantro. Serve hot alongside your main dish — or alone, because this pot needs nothing else.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 10g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 52g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 520mg