Last week. The movers came Thursday. The apartment is empty. The three-square-foot kitchen is bare — no cast iron on the stove (it's in the car), no recipe binder on the counter (it's in my bag), no 'Caleb's Kitchen' apron hanging on the hook (it's packed, next to Hazel's 'Kitchen Assistant' onesie).
I stood in the empty kitchen on Thursday afternoon. Hazel in my arms. Caleb at my feet. The room that was the smallest kitchen I've ever cooked in, the room where I wrote a book and survived a desert and grew tomatoes and found enchiladas.
Three square feet. One demon oven. Two years.
This kitchen taught me that you can cook anywhere. That three square feet is enough. That Mom's three-hundred-degree oven and this three-hundred-and-seventy-degree oven produce the same food if you know how to adjust. That constraint is the mother of invention, and invention is the mother of good food.
I put my hand on the counter. Goodbye, kitchen. Thank you.
Caleb said, 'Bye-bye, kitchen!' and waved. Because Caleb says goodbye to everything — to kitchens, to Joshua trees, to the neighbor's cat, to the mailbox. He's a boy who honors departures.
The drive to Pendleton was two and a half hours. The temperature dropped from 108 to 78 as we drove west toward the coast. The air changed. The light changed. The world went from brown to green to blue.
Ocean. The Pacific Ocean, visible from the freeway, blue and endless and THERE.
Caleb: 'WATER! Big WATER!'
Yes, baby. Big water. The biggest water. We're back.
Our new apartment at Pendleton is a two-bedroom in a different housing area. Bigger kitchen than the desert — FIVE square feet of counter space. An oven that I tested immediately (fifteen degrees hot — manageable, civilized, almost reasonable). A window above the sink that looks at... a palm tree.
A palm tree. We're back.
I unpacked the kitchen first. Cast iron on the stove. Recipe binder on the counter. Salt shaker. Wooden spoons.
Then I called Mom. 'We're here. We're back at Pendleton.'
'How's the kitchen?'
'Five square feet.'
'FIVE? That's luxury, Rachel.'
Luxury. Five square feet is luxury after three. The desert has recalibrated my standards.
Made Mom's chicken and rice casserole for the first dinner. The first recipe. The always recipe. In the new-old kitchen, at the base we left two years ago.
Home. Not the apartment. The casserole.
The casserole is always home.
The casserole is always home — and this is the recipe I reach for when I need to feel that in my hands. Chicken Saltimbocca is fast, it’s simple, and it asks almost nothing of a kitchen except a hot pan and a little butter, which means it has never once cared whether my counter space measured three square feet or five. I made it that first Thursday night at Pendleton with Hazel asleep in the carrier and Caleb “helping” by moving the wooden spoons from drawer to floor, and when it hit the table I remembered: this is the smell of home. Whatever zip code we’re in.
Chicken Saltimbocca
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 oz each), pounded to 1/2-inch thickness
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 8 fresh sage leaves
- 4 thin slices prosciutto
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
- 1/2 cup dry white wine
- 1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- 2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped (for serving)
Instructions
- Prep the chicken. Season both sides of each pounded chicken breast with salt and pepper. Lay 2 sage leaves flat on top of each breast, then drape a slice of prosciutto over the sage, pressing gently so it adheres.
- Sear prosciutto-side down. Heat olive oil and 1 tablespoon of butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add chicken prosciutto-side down and cook 3–4 minutes until the prosciutto is crisp and golden. Flip and cook an additional 3–4 minutes until the chicken is cooked through (internal temperature 165°F). Transfer to a plate and tent loosely with foil.
- Build the pan sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Add the white wine to the skillet, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom. Cook 2 minutes until reduced by half. Add the chicken broth and lemon juice, and simmer another 3–4 minutes until the sauce has thickened slightly.
- Finish with butter. Remove the pan from heat and swirl in the remaining 1 tablespoon of butter until melted and glossy. Taste and adjust seasoning.
- Serve. Plate the chicken prosciutto-side up, spoon the pan sauce generously over each piece, and scatter chopped parsley on top. Serve immediately with rice, crusty bread, or roasted vegetables.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 42g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 2g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 620mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 322 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.
