Chicken Chorizo Pasta

Summer project: painting the cottage. Three weekends in a row, Pierre and I drove to Thibodaux and scraped and primed and painted the yellow cottage on Bayou Lafourche the same yellow it's been since 1963. "Cajun yellow," the paint guy at Sherwin-Williams called it, and I said, "Just call it yellow," and he said, "It's on the card as Cajun Yellow," and I bought twelve gallons and didn't argue further because some battles aren't worth winning and some paint names are too accurate to fight.

Painting with Pierre is exactly what you'd expect: silent, efficient, and punctuated by single-word assessments. "Drip." (I had a drip.) "Spot." (I missed a spot.) "Beer?" (He wanted a beer.) We communicated more through brush strokes than sentences, and by the end of day three, the cottage was gleaming — fresh yellow against the green of the bayou, the cypress trees, the sky. Mama walked out on the porch and put her hands on her hips and said, "It looks new," and Pierre and I stood in the yard covered in Cajun Yellow and nodded. It wasn't new. It was old. But it was maintained, and maintained is better than new because maintained means someone cares enough to keep it going.

Mama fed us, obviously. Saturday lunch: fried shrimp po'boys on French bread from the bakery in town, dressed with lettuce, tomato, and mayo, the shrimp still hot from the fryer. A po'boy from Mama's kitchen is not the same as a po'boy from a restaurant. It's better. It's smaller. The bread is warmer. The shrimp are seasoned with something I can't identify and that she won't reveal. "You'll know when I'm dead," she says, again, cheerfully, about the mystery seasoning. I'm starting to think the mystery seasoning is love, but I'd never say that out loud because Cajun men don't say things like that. We just eat and nod and feel it in our chest.

Mama’s fried shrimp po’boys are hers and hers alone — seasoned with something she’ll take to the grave and served with the kind of warmth that no restaurant can replicate. I can’t recreate that, and I won’t insult her by trying. But when I got home Sunday evening, paint still under my fingernails and that full-chest feeling you get from a weekend well spent, I wanted something in the same spirit: bold, smoky, spiced, unapologetic. This chicken chorizo pasta is the closest I get on a weeknight — the chorizo brings the heat and depth that reminds me of her kitchen, and the whole thing comes together fast enough that you can be eating before the feeling fades.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

12 oz penne or rigatoni pasta
1 lb boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces
6 oz Spanish chorizo or Mexican chorizo, sliced or crumbled
1 can (14.5 oz) diced fire-roasted tomatoes
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 medium yellow onion, diced
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes (or to taste)
Salt and black pepper to taste
Fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped, for garnish
Grated Parmesan cheese, for serving

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water, then drain and set aside.
Brown the chorizo. Heat 1 tbsp olive oil in a large, deep skillet over medium-high heat. Add chorizo and cook, stirring occasionally, for 3–4 minutes until browned and the fat has rendered. Transfer to a plate with a slotted spoon, leaving drippings in the pan.
Cook the chicken. Add remaining olive oil to the same skillet. Season chicken pieces with salt, pepper, and smoked paprika. Cook over medium-high heat for 5–6 minutes, turning once, until golden and cooked through. Transfer to the plate with the chorizo.
Sauté the vegetables. Reduce heat to medium. Add onion and bell pepper to the skillet and cook for 4–5 minutes, stirring often, until softened. Add garlic, cumin, and red pepper flakes and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Build the sauce. Pour in the diced tomatoes with their juices and the chicken broth. Stir to combine, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Bring to a simmer and cook for 5 minutes. Stir in the heavy cream and simmer 2 minutes more.
Combine and finish. Return the chicken and chorizo to the skillet. Add the cooked pasta and toss everything together, adding splashes of reserved pasta water as needed to loosen the sauce. Taste and adjust seasoning with salt and pepper.
Serve. Divide among bowls and top with fresh parsley and grated Parmesan. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Chorizo Pasta — The Kind of Bold, Spiced Comfort Mama Would Approve Of