Chicken and Broccoli with Dill Sauce -- The Monday After, When the House Goes Quiet Again

The julbord happened. The 32nd one. The biggest in years. Twenty-two people sat at the various tables (the dining room table extended to its full eight feet, plus the kitchen table for the kids' overflow, plus a card table in the living room for the elders so they could sit by the fire — Erik, Mamma, Astrid). Karin called from Stockholm at 8 AM her time (5 PM ours) and we put her on the iPad propped up at the table and she ate her own simpler version of julbord at her own table in Stockholm and we waved at the screen and she waved back and Mamma talked to her in Swedish for ten minutes and the rest of us pretended not to listen. Peter arrived at 3:15 PM, off the bus from Minneapolis, with a small duffel bag and a beard he didn't have last time I saw him (in summer 2020, on Zoom). He hugged me for a long time at the door. He smelled clean. He did not smell of alcohol. I do not know if that means anything (he could have not had a drink that morning; he could be sober for a week; he could be sober for good). I did not ask. He came. That was the only fact I needed. He helped in the kitchen. He set the table. He carried Mamma's pot of rice pudding from her car into the kitchen with the care of a man carrying a relic. He sat between Sophie and Lena at dinner. He ate three plates. He drank water. Nobody commented on the water. That was the gift the family gave him — the absence of comment. The almond in the rice pudding went to Mira. (She is two months old. She did not actually eat the rice pudding. The almond was found in the spoonful Sophie was about to feed her, before Sophie noticed it and removed it. Tradition was satisfied. The room cheered. Mira gurgled. Mira will have luck this year. The luck is presumed retroactive.) Mamma ate two meatballs and one slice of limpa and one spoonful of Jansson's temptation and a cup of coffee. "I am ninety," she said. "I eat what I want." What she wanted was small. Her hands shook a little when she lifted the cup. I noticed. I did not say. Erik had four plates. Erik is sixty-six and built like a paper mill. Erik has eaten four plates of julbord every year of his adult life. David (the diplomat son-in-law) gave the toast. He stood, raised his glass of glögg, and said: "To the cook. To the kitchen. To the family. To the absent ones." He looked at Paul's chair. The room went quiet for a moment. Then he said: "To Mira's first julbord." Mira gurgled on cue. The room erupted. The toast was perfect. We ate from 5 PM until 9 PM, in waves, the Swedish way — first the herring with potato, then the cold cuts and salmon, then the warm dishes (meatballs, Jansson's, brown beans), then the dessert (rice pudding, pepparkakor, cardamom bread, princess cake at midnight). Coffee throughout. Akvavit for the adults who drink it. Glögg for the rest. Sven ate enough scraps to last a normal dog a month. He was hand-fed by every grandchild and great-grandchild and son-in-law and brother-in-law. He waddled to his bed at 10 PM and slept for fourteen hours. Peter slept on the foldout couch in the basement. He left Sunday morning on the bus. He hugged me at the door. He said: "Thanks, Mom. I needed this." I said: "Come back anytime." He said: "I will." I did not ask if he meant it. I chose to believe. Monday I made turkey wild rice soup from the leftover meat (yes, we had a turkey too — Anna brought one, because thirteen people need both turkey and meatballs, and Anna is right). Eight quarts. The post-julbord ritual. Half to the freezer, half to the Damiano Center on Thursday. The house was quiet again. The dishwasher had been run nine times in three days. The fridge held leftovers. The dining room table was back to its normal six feet. The card table was folded. The candles were extinguished. The crèche was dusty. The camel was still missing a leg. Paul's chair was empty. The empty chair held him. The chair always will. The 32nd julbord. Mira's first. Mamma's, possibly, last (she said she would be back next year; she is ninety; I am taking nothing for granted). Peter's first sober one in years (presumed, hoped, not asked). The line continues. The kitchen rests. The dog snores. The lake is frozen at the shoreline. The year ends. It is enough. It is everything. It is julbord.

Monday, with the card table folded and the dishwasher finally resting, I needed something that asked almost nothing of me — warm, quick, and enough to fill one person instead of twenty-two. Dill is as Swedish as anything on the julbord table, and this chicken and broccoli in a simple cream-dill sauce felt like the right bridge between the feast and the quiet: a little of the old flavors, none of the production. Peter was back on the bus to Minneapolis, Mamma was home, Sven was still sleeping — and this was just for me, at the kitchen table that was finally, blessedly, back to its normal six feet.

Chicken and Broccoli with Dill Sauce

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

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces
• 3 cups broccoli florets
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
• 1/2 cup heavy cream
• 2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped (or 1 tablespoon dried dill)
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• Cooked egg noodles or white rice, for serving

Instructions

1. Season the chicken. Pat the chicken pieces dry and season evenly with salt and pepper.
2. Brown the chicken. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the chicken in a single layer and cook, undisturbed, for 3–4 minutes per side until golden and cooked through. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
3. Steam the broccoli. Add the broccoli florets to the same skillet with 2 tablespoons of water. Cover and cook over medium heat for 3–4 minutes until just tender and bright green. Transfer to the plate with the chicken.
4. Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Melt the butter in the skillet, then add the garlic and cook for 30 seconds until fragrant. Pour in the chicken broth and scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Let simmer for 2 minutes.
5. Finish with cream and dill. Stir in the heavy cream and lemon juice. Simmer for 3–4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce thickens slightly. Add the dill and adjust seasoning with salt and pepper.
6. Combine and serve. Return the chicken and broccoli to the skillet and toss gently to coat in the sauce. Heat through for 1–2 minutes. Serve warm over egg noodles or rice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 330 | Protein: 39g | Fat: 17g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 470mg