Chicken and Green Beans

I made a Sunday dinner last Sunday. A real one—just the two of us, not the church-homecoming scale, but real: fried chicken, collard greens, mac and cheese, cornbread. The whole spread. Saturday afternoon I did the prep—broke down the chicken, washed the greens, shredded the cheese—and Saturday night I sat in bed reading the Psalms and felt, for the first time in months, like a person with something to do tomorrow. That feeling. I had forgotten what it felt like to have something to do tomorrow. It is a good feeling. A necessary one.

The chicken was not perfect. The first batch came out too dark—I had the oil too hot, which I know better, I have never in my life gotten the oil too hot for fried chicken—but I made the second and third batches right, and Calvin doesn't know about the first batch because it went in the trash before he came in from the study. Some errors you absorb alone. That's true in cooking and in marriage and, as it turns out, in grief.

Calvin sat at the table and watched me cook. He used to do this when we were first married, in the Ensley parsonage, when the congregation was sixty people and the budget couldn't cover both his salary and the electric bill, and he'd sit in the one kitchen chair and watch me move through the kitchen with something in his face that I can only call reverence. He had that look again on Sunday. I haven't seen it in so long I almost didn't recognize it. He watched me fry the chicken with his hands around his coffee cup and his glasses slightly askew, and I felt seen. I felt known. By this man who lost a son the same day I did and who has been sitting in the ruins the same way I have.

I set Marcus's place. I always will. His plate, his fork, his glass of sweet tea, the chair empty. Calvin looked at the extra setting and nodded once—yes, right, of course—and we said grace and we ate. The four of us: Calvin, me, Marcus's memory, and the food that holds him. The food that always holds him. That is his place at this table. Not an absence. A presence with a different shape.

I’ve shared the story of that Sunday above, and I don’t need to add to it — it says what it says. What I will say is that a spread like that doesn’t have to wait for a church homecoming or a house full of people. If you’re looking for a place to start, or a place to come back to, this chicken and green beans is the kind of thing you can make on a Tuesday and it will still feel like something. Simple enough not to overwhelm you, and good enough to make the house smell like intention. That’s where I was that Saturday: I needed to feel like I had something to do tomorrow, and cooking does that. Let it do that for you.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 50 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs
1 lb fresh green beans, trimmed and snapped
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)

Instructions

Season the chicken. Pat the chicken thighs completely dry with paper towels. In a small bowl, combine garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, salt, and black pepper. Rub the spice mixture evenly over both sides of each piece.
Sear skin-side down. Heat olive oil in a large, heavy skillet (cast iron works beautifully here) over medium-high heat until shimmering. Lay the chicken thighs skin-side down and do not move them. Cook 6–7 minutes until the skin is deep golden brown and releases easily from the pan. Flip and sear the other side for 3–4 minutes.
Build the base. Reduce heat to medium. Push the chicken to the edges of the pan and add the minced garlic to the center. Cook, stirring the garlic gently, for about 1 minute until fragrant but not browned.
Add the green beans and broth. Scatter the trimmed green beans around and between the chicken pieces. Pour in the chicken broth and add red pepper flakes if using. Stir the beans gently to coat them in the pan drippings.
Cover and cook through. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover the skillet, and cook for 18–20 minutes, until the chicken registers 165°F at the thickest part and the green beans are tender with a little bite left in them. Check once halfway through and spoon any pan juices over the chicken.
Finish with butter. Uncover the skillet, add the tablespoon of butter, and tilt the pan to let it melt and pool. Spoon it over the chicken once or twice. Taste the green beans and adjust salt as needed. Serve directly from the skillet.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken and Green Beans — The Table Set for Four