Chicken and Rice Chow Mein

Miya went to Brian's for the week — not the every-other-week schedule we'll eventually formalize, but an informal arrangement where Brian takes her for stretches when I need time, and I take her for stretches when Brian needs to be Brian. The arrangement is messy and functional and held together by text messages and the shared understanding that whatever is happening between us, Miya comes first. We agree on this. We agree on almost nothing else, but we agree on this, and the agreement is a floor we both stand on, even when the walls are coming down.

With Miya at Brian's, I wrote. I wrote all week — mornings, afternoons, into the evening. The writing course has uncorked something. The miso soup essay is done and Dana says it's ready to submit somewhere. Submit where? The question is a cliff I'm standing at the edge of. Submit means send into the world. Submit means someone will judge the words. The anxiety says: they will judge you and find you wanting. The writing says: they will judge the words and the words are good. I trust the writing more than I trust the anxiety, which is new, which is progress, which is the whole point of the medication and the mat and the therapy and the twenty years of daily practice at being a person who functions.

I made yakisoba — the stir-fried noodles with vegetables and a sweet-salty sauce that Fumiko made on weeknights, the quick meal, the "I don't have time to make dashi" meal. Yakisoba is unpretentious. It does not require soaking or simmering or overnight preparation. It requires a hot pan, noodles, whatever vegetables you have, and five minutes. I ate it standing at the counter — my default dining position when Miya is gone, because sitting at the table alone feels like a statement I'm not ready to make about my life.

I submitted the miso soup essay to the food magazine that contacted me in the summer. The seventy-five dollar one. I also, in a moment of ambition that surprised even me, submitted a version to a larger magazine — one that pays more, one that has prestige, one that will almost certainly reject me. But the submission is the thing. The rejection is just the weather. The submission is the act. I clicked "send" and closed the laptop and made miso soup, because miso soup is what you make after you have done something brave and need the world to return to its known dimensions.

The apartment is quiet without Miya. Not empty-quiet — thinking-quiet. The quiet of a woman who is alone and starting to understand that alone is not the same as lonely, that alone might actually be the beginning of a life she recognizes as her own.

The yakisoba I made that week was exactly this spirit — a hot pan, noodles, whatever was in the crisper, and no performance required. This Chicken and Rice Chow Mein is that same meal with a little more structure: still fast, still forgiving, still the kind of thing you can make after you’ve clicked “send” on something brave and just need the kitchen to ask nothing of you. I ate it standing at the counter, same as always, and it was exactly enough.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 lb boneless, skinless chicken breast, thinly sliced
2 cups cooked long-grain white rice
2 packages (3 oz each) ramen-style noodles, cooked and drained (seasoning packets discarded)
2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup shredded cabbage
1 medium carrot, julienned
3 green onions, sliced, plus more for garnish
3 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon oyster sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

Season the chicken. Toss sliced chicken with a pinch of salt, pepper, and 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger. Set aside while you prep the vegetables.
Make the sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together soy sauce, oyster sauce, and sesame oil. Set aside.
Cook the chicken. Heat 1 tablespoon vegetable oil in a large skillet or wok over high heat. Add chicken in a single layer and cook without stirring for 2 minutes, then stir-fry until cooked through, about 3–4 minutes more. Transfer to a plate.
Stir-fry the vegetables. Add remaining 1 tablespoon oil to the same pan. Add garlic and stir-fry for 30 seconds until fragrant. Add cabbage and carrot and cook, tossing frequently, for 2–3 minutes until just tender.
Add noodles and rice. Add the cooked noodles and rice to the pan. Press them against the hot surface and let sit for 1 minute to get a little color, then toss to combine with the vegetables.
Finish and serve. Return the chicken to the pan, pour the sauce over everything, and toss well over high heat for 1–2 minutes until everything is coated and heated through. Add green onions, toss once more, and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken and Rice Chow Mein — The Weeknight Noodles That Asked Nothing of Me