Chicken Thigh Marinade — When Life Gets Heavy, Keep Dinner Simple

I called Nashville State Community College on Monday. I sat in the Waffle House parking lot during my break with Jayden's cheerio dust all over my work shirt and I called the admissions office and asked about the dental hygiene program. The woman on the phone was nice — too nice, the kind of nice that made me want to cry — and she walked me through the prerequisites, the application timeline, the financial aid options. I wrote everything on the back of a guest check because I didn't have paper. I still have that guest check. It's on my fridge now, next to Chloe's finger painting of what she says is a horse but looks like a purple explosion.

Here's the thing about deciding to go back to school at twenty-four with two kids and a Waffle House apron: everyone has an opinion. Keandra said, "Girl, yes." Mama said, "Are you sure you can handle it?" — which is Lorraine for "I support you but I'm terrified." Kevin said, "About time." Amber said, "That's amazing!" from Chattanooga, where everything sounds amazing when you're twenty-one and in love and don't have kids yet.

I haven't applied yet. I'm still in the looking-at-it phase, which is the phase where you want something so bad you're afraid to reach for it because reaching means you might not get it, and not getting it would be worse than never trying. I know that's not true. I know that rationally. But rational and 3 AM are different zip codes.

Chloe painted my toenails this week. I was sitting on the couch, exhausted, feet up, and she appeared with a bottle of neon pink polish she found God-knows-where and said, "Mama, I'm going to make you beautiful." She is four years old and she already believes she can improve things just by showing up with color. I didn't stop her. She got more polish on my toes than she got on my actual toenails, and the couch has a pink spot now that I'll never get out, and my feet looked like they'd been attacked by a flamingo. But she was so proud. "You're pretty now, Mama," she said. Baby, I was pretty before. I just forgot.

Jayden took three steps this week. THREE. He pulled up on the coffee table, let go, and walked — stumbled, really, like a tiny drunk person — three steps before sitting down hard on his diaper. Chloe screamed. I screamed. Jayden looked at us like we were insane and then crawled away. He hasn't done it again. He's saving it, apparently. Building suspense.

I made tuna casserole on Thursday. I know, I know — tuna casserole is the official food of women who've given up. But here's the truth: a can of tuna is 89 cents, egg noodles are a dollar, and a can of cream of mushroom soup is 75 cents, and that feeds all of us for two nights. You can judge my casserole or you can judge my grocery bill, but you can't judge both. I put crushed potato chips on top because Earline always said the crunch is what separates dinner from despair. She wasn't wrong.

Marcus's mom — Wanda — called on Wednesday to ask about the kids. She does this every few weeks. She loves Chloe and Jayden, and I won't keep her from them just because her son disappeared. I told her they're fine. She said Marcus is "going through something." He's always going through something. Some people are perpetually going through something. I just said, "Okay, Miss Wanda," and changed the subject to Chloe's toenail painting business. She laughed. We're okay, Wanda and me. We're connected by two kids and one disappointment and we make the best of it.

Spring rain all week in Nashville. The kind that turns Antioch into a series of puddles connected by roads. Chloe wore her rain boots every single day, even inside. She calls them her "stomping boots." She stomps puddles the way I used to — with complete joy and zero awareness that the water is going in the boot, not away from it. I let her. Wet socks are temporary. Joy is worth soaking for.

Some weeks don’t call for a casserole or a big production — they call for something you can throw together in five minutes and walk away from. This was one of those weeks. The rain finally broke on Friday, the grill was dry enough to use, and I had chicken thighs in the fridge that needed a purpose. This marinade is the kind of recipe that asks almost nothing of you, which is exactly what I had left to give. Mix it, coat it, let the fridge do its thing, and by the time the kids are done with the backyard you’ve got dinner. Here’s how I made it.

Chicken Thigh Marinade

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: — | Total Time: 5 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 8 large or 12 small chicken thighs, boneless skinless or bone-in, skin-on (about 3 pounds)
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice*
• 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce or a1 sauce
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1 teaspoon onion powder
• 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
• 2 teaspoons kosher salt

Instructions

1. Mix the marinade. In a small bowl, mix the olive oil, Dijon mustard, lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, garlic powder, onion powder, dried thyme and kosher salt.
2. Marinate the chicken. Pat the chicken thighs dry with a paper towel. Add the chicken to a container and pour on the marinade. Use your hands to evenly cover the chicken with the marinade. If using skin-on chicken thighs, make sure to use your fingers to get the marinade under the skin. Cover and marinate in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes or up to 8 hours.
3. Preheat the grill. Preheat a grill to medium-high heat (375°F to 450°F).
4. Grill the chicken. Grill the chicken thighs smooth side down until grill marks appear and it releases from the grates, 5 to 6 minutes for small thighs and 6 to 8 for large thighs. Flip and cook until the internal temperature is 165°F, 4 to 5 minutes.
5. Rest and serve. Remove to a platter and cover with foil. Rest for 5 minutes for maximum juiciness. Taste and if desired, add a few more pinches of salt to taste.

Nutrition (per serving)

Nutrition information not available for this recipe.