Chicken Tzatziki

The garden is my sanity this spring. I planted tomatoes and basil and peppers and, for the first time, zucchini, because if Mrs. Berman can grow zucchini the size of baseball bats then I can grow zucchini of moderate proportions, and the growing of things — the putting of seeds in dirt and waiting for life to happen — is the most hopeful act available to me in a month that has not been generous with hope. I am on my knees in the dirt every morning before class, hands in the soil, which is therapeutic in ways I do not need a therapist to explain: the earth is real, the seeds are real, the sun is real, and the virus is not in the garden.

David arranged a "grandchild visit" — a driveway visit, where Jennifer brings the children and they stand on the driveway and I stand on the porch and we shout at each other across fifteen feet of concrete, which is the government-recommended distance for love in a pandemic. Ethan showed me a drawing. Sophie sang a song she learned from a YouTube video. Noah, who is one year old and walking now, toddled across the driveway and had to be intercepted by Jennifer before he reached my porch, because Noah does not understand social distancing and neither, in my heart, do I. I wanted to hold him. I did not hold him. I waved. I smiled. I went inside and sat at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands for five minutes, which is the amount of time I allow myself for the particular grief of not touching my grandchildren, and then I got up and made dinner.

I made shakshuka this week — eggs poached in a spiced tomato sauce, which is not Ashkenazi food but which I learned from Miriam, who learned it in Israel, where it is breakfast food and lunch food and dinner food and the answer to the question "What should we eat?" always. I made it with the canned tomatoes from the pantry, because fresh tomatoes are weeks away, and the eggs from the farm stand that is still, mercifully, operating. The shakshuka was good. Not as good as Miriam's, which I told her on the phone and which she accepted with the quiet satisfaction of a younger sister who has won a rare victory. Some competitions never end. The shakshuka competition is one of them.

That week of shakshuka made me hungry for more of that feeling — food that tastes like someone put thought and warmth into it, the kind Miriam always serves when you sit at her table in the middle of the afternoon and she acts like it’s nothing. I didn’t have another can of tomatoes left, but I did have yogurt and lemon and the herbs I’d snipped from the pot on the back step, so I made this chicken tzatziki the following night, and it had the same quality: bright, grounding, unapologetically simple. It’s the sort of dish that reminds you the Mediterranean has always known something the rest of the world is still catching up to — that good food made from a few honest ingredients is enough.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into strips
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 cup plain full-fat Greek yogurt
1 medium cucumber, grated and squeezed dry
2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 clove garlic, minced (for tzatziki)
Pita bread or flatbread, for serving
Sliced tomatoes, red onion, and fresh parsley, for garnish

Instructions

Marinate the chicken. In a bowl, combine olive oil, garlic, oregano, cumin, paprika, salt, and pepper. Add chicken strips and toss to coat. Let marinate for at least 10 minutes at room temperature (or up to 4 hours in the refrigerator).
Make the tzatziki. While the chicken marinates, combine Greek yogurt, grated cucumber, dill, lemon juice, and the second clove of minced garlic in a bowl. Season with salt to taste, stir well, and refrigerate until ready to serve.
Cook the chicken. Heat a large skillet or grill pan over medium-high heat. Add the marinated chicken in a single layer and cook for 5–6 minutes per side, until golden and cooked through (internal temperature of 165°F). Work in batches if needed to avoid crowding.
Rest and slice. Transfer cooked chicken to a cutting board and let rest for 3–4 minutes before slicing.
Assemble and serve. Spread a generous spoonful of tzatziki onto warm pita or flatbread. Top with sliced chicken, tomatoes, red onion, and a scatter of fresh parsley. Serve with extra tzatziki on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Tzatziki — The Comfort of a Mediterranean Kitchen When the World Feels Far Away