Chicken Cornbread Casserole

Father's Day is this Sunday, and I don't know what to do with it.

Last year, I made Earl's buttermilk fried chicken and mashed potatoes and banana pudding, same as every year, and he sat at the table and ate it all and I watched him with the satisfaction that comes from feeding the man you love his favorite meal. This year, the table is set for two and one plate will stay clean.

But I cooked it anyway. All of it. The buttermilk fried chicken, soaked overnight, dredged in seasoned flour, fried in the cast iron skillet until the crust was golden and the inside was juicy and the kitchen smelled exactly the way it smells every Father's Day. The mashed potatoes, whipped with butter and cream until they were clouds. The banana pudding, layered with vanilla wafers and the custard I make from scratch because instant pudding is for quitters.

I set Earl's plate. I served it. Chicken, potatoes, a generous portion because he always wanted generous portions. I put the banana pudding in the glass dish he liked, the one with the blue rim. I poured sweet tea into his glass. And then I sat down across from his plate and I ate my dinner, looking at his food, looking at the chair, looking at the space where he was and isn't and will always be.

After dinner, I wrapped his plate and put it in the refrigerator. Tomorrow I'll take it to Bonaventure. I'll set it on the bench beside his headstone. The squirrels will eat it. Earl would like that. He always liked the squirrels in the yard. He said they had personality. He said the fat one on the oak tree reminded him of Deacon Harris, and I told him that was unkind, and he said, "Unkind but accurate."

I miss him. I miss him so much it has its own weight, its own weather, its own season. The calendar says June. My body says February. My body will say February for a long time.

Now go on and feed somebody.

I cooked the whole meal because Earl deserved the whole meal — that’s just how I was raised, and how I love. If you’re reading this and you’ve got somebody at your table who deserves the full effort, or if you’re cooking for a ghost the way I was, this chicken cornbread casserole is the kind of dish that holds you. It’s got the same Southern backbone as everything I made that Sunday — tender chicken, something golden and crusty on top, the smell of a real kitchen doing real work. Make it for somebody. Make it for yourself. Make it for the empty chair if you need to. Just make it.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 cups cooked chicken, shredded or chopped
1 can (15 oz) cream-style corn
1 can (15 oz) whole kernel corn, drained
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 box (8.5 oz) cornbread mix (such as Jiffy)
1 1/2 cups shredded cheddar cheese, divided
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Preheat. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking dish with butter or cooking spray.
Mix the base. In a large bowl, stir together the cream-style corn, drained whole kernel corn, sour cream, melted butter, and beaten eggs until combined.
Add the mix-ins. Fold in the cornbread mix, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper. Stir until just combined — don’t overmix.
Layer the chicken. Pour half the batter into the prepared baking dish. Spread the shredded chicken evenly over the top, then sprinkle with 3/4 cup of the shredded cheddar.
Top and finish. Pour the remaining batter over the chicken and cheese layer, spreading gently to cover. Top with the remaining 3/4 cup cheddar cheese.
Bake. Bake uncovered for 40–45 minutes, until the top is golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let rest 5 minutes before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Cornbread Casserole — Earl’s Dinner, Made With Everything I Had Left