Chicken and Shrimp Satay

Something happened this week that I need to write down before I forget it, or before I convince myself it didn't happen, because it was small and it was everything.

Tuesday evening. Kayla came over after her shift. She was still in her scrubs, tired, her hair pulled back, and she had a bag of groceries. She didn't say anything at first. She just came into the kitchen and put the groceries on the counter — shrimp, grits, butter, cheese — and she looked at me and said four words:

"Teach me your way."

I stared at her. She said, "Shrimp and grits. Granny's way. I want to learn."

And something inside me — something that had been shut down and locked and dark for a month — something moved. Like a door cracking open. Not wide. Not all the way. Just a crack. Just enough light to see by.

I put on my apron. Earl's apron. The one that says "The General." I put it on and I felt the weight of it on my shoulders and it felt like armor. Like coming back from somewhere I didn't know I'd gone.

I taught Kayla. I stood at the stove — my stove, Hattie Pearl's skillet — and I showed her how to cook the grits. Low and slow, stone-ground grits from the Sapelo Island mill. Stir constantly. Add the butter in pieces. Add the cheese at the end. "The grits will tell you when they're done, baby. They'll get soft and stop fighting you. Like life."

I showed her the shrimp. Fresh, from the dock, because Earl would never accept frozen shrimp and neither will I. Season them with salt, pepper, garlic, a little paprika. Hot skillet. Thirty seconds per side. "When they curl into a C, they're done. An O means you've gone too far." She overcooked two of them. I didn't say a word. Learning is allowed.

We sat at the kitchen table — me and Kayla, two plates, the pink carnations dead and dried between us — and we ate shrimp and grits. The first meal I have cooked in a month. And it tasted — God help me — it tasted like everything. Like the marsh and the butter and the years and the love and the loss and the coming back. It tasted like Hattie Pearl and Earl and Michael and Willie James and every person who ever sat at this table and isn't here anymore. It tasted like being alive.

I cried. Kayla cried. We ate and we cried and we didn't apologize for any of it.

Now go on and feed somebody.

Kayla brought shrimp through that door, and shrimp is what we used — and if you’ve got someone in your life who deserves a meal that says I see you, I’m here, let’s eat something together, this Chicken and Shrimp Satay is the one I reach for now when I want that same spirit on a skewer. It’s got the heat, the garlic, the bright fresh shrimp — everything the kitchen felt like that Tuesday night. Make it for somebody. Make it with somebody. That’s the whole point.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 lb large shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 lb boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch cubes
3 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
Salt and black pepper to taste
Wooden or metal skewers
For the peanut dipping sauce:
1/3 cup creamy peanut butter
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 clove garlic, minced
2–3 tablespoons warm water (to thin)

Instructions

Soak skewers. If using wooden skewers, soak them in water for at least 20 minutes so they don’t char on the grill or under the broiler.
Make the marinade. Whisk together soy sauce, lime juice, olive oil, garlic, ginger, paprika, red pepper flakes, salt, and pepper in a large bowl.
Marinate. Add the chicken cubes to the marinade and toss to coat. Let sit 10 minutes. Add the shrimp and toss gently — shrimp only need 5 minutes or they’ll start to “cook” in the acid. Don’t walk away.
Thread the skewers. Thread chicken and shrimp onto separate skewers — they cook at different speeds, and you want to pull the shrimp the moment they curl into a C. An O means you’ve gone too far.
Make the peanut sauce. Whisk together peanut butter, soy sauce, honey, lime juice, sesame oil, and garlic. Add warm water one tablespoon at a time until it reaches a smooth, pourable consistency. Taste and adjust salt or lime.
Cook the skewers. Grill or broil chicken skewers over medium-high heat 4–5 minutes per side until cooked through with a light char. Cook shrimp skewers 2–3 minutes per side only — watch them. When they’re pink and curled, pull them off immediately.
Serve. Arrange on a platter and serve warm with the peanut dipping sauce alongside. A scatter of fresh cilantro and lime wedges doesn’t hurt anything.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken and Shrimp Satay — For the Night Someone Brings the Groceries to You