Chicken Caprese — The Marlene Tomato, Finally on the Table

Mother's Day. The first without her. I woke up and the first thing I thought was: she won't call. The phone won't ring at eight AM with her voice saying, "Happy Mother's Day, Diane," and then immediately pivoting to pot roast advice, because Marlene's Mother's Day calls were thirty percent greeting and seventy percent culinary direction and the direction was the greeting and the greeting was the love.

The kids made breakfast — the tradition, evolved. Noah's omelets have achieved professional quality. Emma made avocado toast (the generational shift: Marlene made rolls, Diane makes eggs, Emma makes avocado toast, and the progression says something about twenty-first-century Iowa that I'm not sure I understand). Jack brought me the first cherry tomato from the Marlene plant — red, small, warm from the greenhouse where he started it early, the very first fruit of the plant named for my mother, placed in my hand on Mother's Day like a communion wafer, round and sacred and the size of a marble and the weight of everything.

I ate the cherry tomato. Standing in the kitchen. Alone for a moment, the kids back in their rooms, Kevin making coffee. I ate the Marlene tomato and it was sweet and it tasted like the garden and the garden tasted like Jack and Jack tastes like Roger and Roger tastes like the farm and the farm tastes like Marlene and Marlene tastes like cinnamon and frosting and the August smell of steam rising from a canner and I stood in my kitchen and I ate a cherry tomato named for my dead mother and I cried, which is not the Weber way, except when it is, except when the tomato is perfect and the name is right and the boy who grew it did it on purpose and the purpose was love and the love was a fruit and the fruit was a mother and the mother was mine.

I called no one. There was no one to call. I made pot roast. More carrots. Always more carrots.

I made pot roast that afternoon, because that’s what you do when you’re a Weber and grief needs somewhere to go — but the tomato stayed with me. That small, warm, red thing Jack pressed into my palm kept asking to be part of something. A few days later, when I had a little more steadiness in me, I made this Chicken Caprese — because it’s a dish that puts the tomato at the center where it belongs, surrounded by things that let it shine: fresh basil, good mozzarella, a little balsamic. Marlene would have called it fussy, and then eaten two helpings and asked for the recipe.

Chicken Caprese

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

Ingredients

• 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 oz each)
• 1 tsp garlic powder
• 1 tsp Italian seasoning
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/4 tsp black pepper
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
• 4 oz fresh mozzarella, sliced
• 1/4 cup fresh basil leaves
• 3 tbsp balsamic glaze

Instructions

1. Season the chicken. Pat chicken breasts dry with paper towels. In a small bowl, combine garlic powder, Italian seasoning, salt, and pepper. Rub the mixture evenly over both sides of each breast.
2. Sear. Heat olive oil in a large oven-safe skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken and sear for 4–5 minutes per side until golden brown and cooked through (internal temperature of 165°F). Remove from heat.
3. Top the chicken. Arrange halved cherry tomatoes over each breast, then lay sliced mozzarella on top.
4. Melt the cheese. Place the skillet under the broiler for 2–3 minutes, until the mozzarella is just melted and beginning to bubble. Watch closely.
5. Finish and serve. Remove from oven and scatter fresh basil leaves over the top. Drizzle generously with balsamic glaze. Serve immediately, straight from the pan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 340 | Protein: 42g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 8g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 480mg