Betty’s Chicken and Dumplings — The Recipe That Taught Me Who Was Really Brave

Two weeks until graduation. Clay is checked out of school and checked into the future. He sits in class but he's not in class — he's in Fort Benning, in his mind, running through scenarios he's watched on YouTube and read about on forums. I know this because I was the same way at eighteen, sitting in the last weeks of high school while my mind was already underground, already in the tunnels, already in the dark. The body stays but the spirit leaves early. That's how young men handle the transition between what is and what's coming: they pre-live it.

I drove to Evarts on Saturday. Monthly visit. Betty was in the garden — May in Harlan County, the garden is exploding. Tomato seedlings in the ground, beans up the poles, corn pushing through. She's slower but she's there, hands in the dirt, knees on the ground, doing what she's always done because stopping would be admitting that something has changed and Betty doesn't admit change. Change happens to Betty the way weather happens to a mountain — it registers, it affects, but it doesn't alter the fundamental structure.

I told Betty that Clay is shipping in July. She already knew — I'd told her — but I told her again because telling Betty is a form of processing. She is the confessional and the counselor and the cook, and she receives my fears the way she receives a pot of beans: she takes them in, she applies heat, she transforms them into something you can survive on.

She said: "I sent your daddy into the mountain every day for thirty-four years. I packed his lunch and kissed him at the door and watched him walk away and I didn't know if he was coming home. Every. Single. Day." She paused. "You learn to hold the fear in one hand and the faith in the other and you keep going because there's dinner to make and children to feed and the world doesn't stop because you're afraid." She looked at me. "Connie knows this. She's been doing it since you went into the mines."

That hit me. That hit me like the roof fall. Connie has been doing what Betty did — watching her man walk into danger, packing the metaphorical lunch, holding fear and faith in both hands — since 1986 when I went underground. Thirty-two years. Connie has been brave for thirty-two years and I never called it brave because I was the one underground and I thought bravery was down there with me. It wasn't. Bravery was at the entrance, waiting. Bravery is always waiting.

Betty made chicken and dumplings for lunch. I ate two bowls and drove home and held Connie's hand in the truck and said "Thank you for waiting." She said "What?" I said "For thirty-two years. Thank you for waiting." She squeezed my hand. She didn't ask what I meant. She knew.

Betty’s chicken and dumplings are the reason I drove home holding Connie’s hand with tears I didn’t let fall. Two bowls of this — thick broth, dumplings that hold together just enough, chicken falling apart the way my composure was — and thirty-two years of taking my wife’s courage for granted finally broke through. This is the recipe as close as I can get it to what Betty set in front of me that Saturday, the meal that made me see what I should have seen a long time ago.

Betty’s Chicken and Dumplings

Prep Time: 25 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour 30 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 55 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 1 whole chicken (about 4 pounds), cut into pieces
• 10 cups water
• 2 teaspoons salt, plus more to taste
• 1 teaspoon black pepper
• 3 stalks celery, chopped
• 1 medium onion, diced
• 3 carrots, peeled and sliced
• 2 bay leaves
• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 tablespoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 3 tablespoons cold butter, cut into small pieces
• 3/4 cup whole milk
• 1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped

Instructions

1. Cook the chicken. Place chicken pieces in a large Dutch oven or stockpot with 10 cups water, 2 teaspoons salt, pepper, celery, onion, carrots, and bay leaves. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to a simmer. Cook uncovered for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until the chicken is cooked through and tender.
2. Shred the chicken. Remove chicken pieces from the broth and set aside to cool. Discard bay leaves. Once cool enough to handle, pull the meat from the bones and shred into bite-sized pieces. Discard skin and bones. Return shredded chicken to the pot.
3. Make the dumplings. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Cut in cold butter using a fork or your fingers until the mixture looks like coarse crumbs. Pour in milk and stir just until a shaggy dough forms. Do not overmix.
4. Drop the dumplings. Bring the broth back to a gentle boil. Drop rounded tablespoons of dough into the simmering broth, spacing them so they don’t touch. You should get about 12 to 14 dumplings.
5. Cook covered. Reduce heat to low, cover the pot with a tight-fitting lid, and cook for 15 minutes without lifting the lid. The dumplings need the steam to cook through.
6. Finish and serve. Remove lid and check that dumplings are cooked through — they should be fluffy and no longer doughy in the center. Stir in parsley, taste the broth, and adjust salt and pepper. Ladle into deep bowls.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 410 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 38g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 980mg