Chicken Parmesan Stromboli

My birthday. Thirty-eight. Derek cooked me dinner.

He came to the townhouse after the kids went to Terrell's (Terrell, for once, was useful — he took them for the weekend, which gave Derek and me the house). He arrived at six with grocery bags and the nervous energy of a man who has voluntarily entered a war zone. My kitchen. His challenge. I sat at the kitchen table — MY table, where I sit to write recipes, where Jasmine does homework, where Marcus argues about policy — and I watched him cook.

He made chicken marsala. The dish from our first date. He chose it because he's romantic and because he remembered and because Derek Washington remembers everything I say the way my notebook remembers Mama's recipes — carefully, completely, with margins for notes. The chicken was... fine. The sauce was thin. The mushrooms were slightly burned. The pasta was overcooked. It was, objectively, a C+ meal. It was, subjectively, the most delicious thing I have ever eaten.

Because he stood at my stove. He wore my apron (the one that says "Kitchen Is My Church" that Vanessa bought me last Christmas). He stirred and tasted and adjusted and he didn't know what he was doing and he did it anyway. For me. Because I asked. Because I deserve to be cooked for. Because the woman who feeds everyone deserves to sit at a table where the food was made for her, imperfect and full of effort, by someone who loves her.

He said it after dinner. We were washing dishes together — he washed, I dried, the domestic choreography that feels more intimate than any kiss. He handed me a plate and said, "I love you." Not dramatically. Not with a speech. Just: "I love you." Like he'd been saying it forever and was just now mentioning it. Like the words had been true for months and he was simply making them official. I looked at him. I held the plate. I said, "I love you too." And I meant it with my whole body, with my whole kitchen, with the Folgers can on the counter and Mama's ghost in the garlic and my children's artwork on the refrigerator and the entire complicated, beautiful, impossible life that has led me to this moment: a woman at a sink, holding a plate, saying I love you to a man who cooked her a C+ chicken marsala and washed the dishes and said it first.

I didn't say it back for three weeks, the bio says. But that's the public version. The private version is: I said it that night. In the kitchen. Over dishes. And I meant it more than I've meant anything since "Don't stop cooking because of me." I love you. Don't stop.

Derek’s C+ chicken marsala will live in my heart forever — not because it was perfect, but because it was his, made at my stove, with his nervous hands and his whole heart. In that spirit, I wanted to share a chicken recipe that is equally forgiving, equally generous, and a little easier to pull off for anyone who, like Derek, is brave enough to cook for someone they love. This Chicken Parmesan Stromboli has everything that makes a kitchen feel like a love language: golden crust, melty cheese, the kind of warmth that fills a room and says I made this for you.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 lb pizza dough (store-bought or homemade), at room temperature
1 1/2 cups cooked chicken breast, shredded or thinly sliced
1/2 cup marinara sauce, plus extra for dipping
1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)
1 tablespoon olive oil
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Preheat oven. Preheat your oven to 400°F (205°C). Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper and lightly brush with olive oil.
Roll out the dough. On a lightly floured surface, roll the pizza dough into a rectangle approximately 12 x 10 inches. Transfer the dough to the prepared baking sheet.
Season the chicken. Toss the shredded or sliced chicken with garlic powder, Italian seasoning, red pepper flakes if using, and a pinch of salt and pepper.
Layer the filling. Spread the marinara sauce evenly over the dough, leaving a 1-inch border on all sides. Distribute the seasoned chicken over the sauce, then sprinkle the mozzarella and Parmesan cheeses evenly over the top.
Roll and seal. Starting from the long edge, roll the dough tightly into a log, pinching the seam and the ends firmly to seal. Place seam-side down on the baking sheet.
Apply egg wash. Brush the entire surface of the stromboli with the beaten egg. Use a sharp knife or kitchen shears to cut 4–5 small slits across the top to allow steam to escape.
Bake. Bake for 22–26 minutes, or until the stromboli is deep golden brown and the internal temperature reads 165°F. Let rest for 5 minutes before slicing.
Serve. Slice into 6 portions and serve warm alongside a small bowl of marinara sauce for dipping.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Parmesan Stromboli — For the Woman Who Deserves to Be Cooked For