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Cajun Chicken Strips — Cooking Through the Hard Year and Coming Out the Other Side

Back to school — the COVID version. Hybrid learning. Masks. Temperature checks. The particular surrealism of dropping your kids off at a school that looks like a hospital entrance. Luc handles it with teenage stoicism. Colette handles it with organizational adaptation (she has a mask that matches every outfit, because Colette). Rémy handles it by forgetting his mask in the car approximately every single morning. Danielle keeps extras in her purse, her desk, and what I believe to be a strategic cache in the car's glove compartment.

I'm back to work full-time and the rhythm is returning. Jobs, invoices, employees. DeShawn is now two years in and approaching his journeyman's exam. I watch him work and see the future of Beaumont Electrical: steady hands, quiet confidence, the kind of work that doesn't need to announce itself because the result speaks. He's going to be better than me. I'm going to let him.

Made a fall gumbo — the first gumbo of the season that felt celebratory rather than therapeutic. All year I've been making gumbo as medicine — stress gumbo, grief gumbo, can't-sleep gumbo. This gumbo was different. This gumbo was: the crawfish came back, Mama survived, the business survived, the family survived. Dark roux. Forty-five minutes. Andouille and chicken and okra and the accumulated relief of a year that tried to break us and didn't. C'est bon, cher. We're still here. We're still cooking. The roux is turning. The gumbo is on.

The gumbo was the centerpiece — that dark roux, forty-five minutes of stirring, the whole ritual — but it’s the Cajun Chicken Strips that have become the family’s weeknight shorthand for the same feeling: bold spice, Southern roots, the kind of heat that reminds you you’re alive and fed and together. Rémy requests them by name now, which means he’s stopped forgetting his mask long enough to think about dinner, and I’ll take that as a win. When you want that celebratory Cajun spirit without a four-hour pot on the stove, this is the recipe that carries it.

Cajun Chicken Strips

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into strips
  • 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1 1/2 tsp Cajun seasoning
  • 1 tsp smoked paprika
  • 1/2 tsp garlic powder
  • 1/2 tsp onion powder
  • 1/2 tsp dried thyme
  • 1/4 tsp cayenne pepper (or to taste)
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 1/4 tsp black pepper
  • 2 eggs, beaten
  • 1 cup seasoned breadcrumbs
  • 3 tbsp vegetable oil, for pan-frying

Instructions

  1. Season the flour. In a shallow bowl, whisk together the flour, Cajun seasoning, smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, dried thyme, cayenne, salt, and black pepper until evenly combined.
  2. Set up the dredging station. Place the beaten eggs in a second shallow bowl and the seasoned breadcrumbs in a third. Line them up: flour mixture, eggs, breadcrumbs.
  3. Coat the chicken. Working one strip at a time, dredge each piece in the seasoned flour, shaking off the excess. Dip into the egg, letting any extra drip off, then press firmly into the breadcrumbs to coat all sides.
  4. Heat the oil. In a large skillet over medium-high heat, warm the vegetable oil until shimmering — about 2 minutes. You want a good sizzle when the chicken hits the pan.
  5. Pan-fry the strips. Working in batches to avoid crowding, cook the chicken strips 3—4 minutes per side, until deep golden brown and cooked through (internal temperature 165°F). Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate.
  6. Rest and serve. Let the strips rest 2—3 minutes before serving. Pair with remoulade, hot sauce, or a simple dipping sauce alongside rice or a green salad.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 390 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 26g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 620mg

Tommy Beaumont
About the cook who shared this
Tommy Beaumont
Week 188 of Tommy’s 30-year story · Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Tommy is a Cajun electrician from Thibodaux, Louisiana, who lost his home to Hurricane Katrina four months after his wedding and rebuilt his life one roux at a time. He grew up on Bayou Lafourche, fishing with his father Joey at dawn and eating his mother's gumbo by dusk. His crawfish boils draw the whole neighborhood, his boudin is made from scratch, and he stirs his roux the way Joey taught him — dark as chocolate, forty-five minutes, no shortcuts. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

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