January in Duluth. If you've never experienced it, imagine living inside a freezer for thirty-one days while the sun makes brief, apologetic appearances between eight-thirty AM and four-fifteen PM. The temperature hasn't been above ten degrees all week. The wind chill was minus twenty on Wednesday. Paul's morning walk lasted twelve minutes instead of the usual hour. Even Sven — who will chase a tennis ball through a blizzard — went outside, assessed the situation, and came back in with a look that said: "No."
The lake is freezing. Not all the way — Lake Superior rarely freezes completely, it's too deep and too angry — but the shoreline ice is building, and from the kitchen window I can see the shelf ice extending into the water like a white ledge. It creaks and groans at night. Paul says it sounds like the lake is talking. I say it sounds like the lake is complaining. We're both right.
I worked four shifts this week because a colleague was out with the flu that's been running through the hospital like a fire through dry brush. Twelve-hour shifts in January are particularly exhausting — you arrive in the dark, you leave in the dark, and the fluorescent lights in between feel like a poor substitute for sun. But the patients need you regardless of the light, so you show up.
I made hearty food all week because January demands it. Monday: split pea soup, thick enough to stand a spoon in. Wednesday: beef barley soup with chunks of carrot and potato. Friday: chicken and wild rice casserole, a Minnesota classic that involves cream of mushroom soup (from a can, again — I have made peace with cream of mushroom soup from a can) and wild rice and chicken and enough cheese to worry a cardiologist.
Paul, who is not a cardiologist but who lives with a nurse, ate the casserole without guilt because Paul doesn't do guilt about food. He does guilt about historical inaccuracies in movies and about returning library books late. Food guilt is not in his emotional repertoire.
I called Peter on Sunday. He answered. He sounded — I don't know. Flat. Not angry, not sad, just flat, the way a person sounds when they're going through the motions of being a person without actually being present for it. He talked about work. He talked about the weather in Chicago. He did not talk about his wife. I did not ask.
Mamma called to tell me her furnace was making a noise. I called Erik. Erik went over. The furnace was fine. The noise was the wind. Mamma has lived in that house for fifty-four years and she still thinks wind is a furnace problem. Or maybe she just wanted Erik to come over. Maybe that's the point. Maybe the furnace call is how Ingrid Johansson says "I'm lonely" without saying "I'm lonely." I understand the impulse perfectly.
There’s something about a week full of flat voices and furnace calls and the particular loneliness of people who won’t say they’re lonely that makes you want to cook something slow and warm and completely unpretentious—something that just sits in the oven and does its job without any drama. Chicken and wild rice casserole is that dish for me. It’s the culinary equivalent of Erik driving over to check on a furnace that was never broken: it doesn’t solve anything, but it shows up, and sometimes that’s the whole point.
Chicken and Wild Rice Casserole
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 1 hr 15 min | Total Time: 1 hr 30 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 cup uncooked wild rice (or wild rice blend)
- 2 1/2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
- 2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts or thighs, cut into 1-inch pieces
- 1 can (10.5 oz) condensed cream of mushroom soup
- 1 cup sour cream
- 1/2 cup whole milk
- 1 medium yellow onion, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 1/2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese, divided
- 1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese
- 1 tsp dried thyme
- 1/2 tsp garlic powder
- 1/2 tsp black pepper
- 1 tsp kosher salt, plus more to taste
- 2 tbsp unsalted butter
Instructions
- Cook the wild rice. Combine wild rice and chicken broth in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to a low simmer, cover, and cook 45 minutes until the rice is tender and most of the liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat and set aside.
- Preheat and prep. Heat oven to 350°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish with butter or nonstick spray.
- Brown the chicken. Season chicken pieces with thyme, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken and cook, stirring occasionally, until no longer pink and lightly golden, about 7–8 minutes. Remove from heat.
- Build the sauce. In a large bowl, whisk together the cream of mushroom soup, sour cream, and milk until smooth. Stir in the diced onion and minced garlic.
- Combine the filling. Add the cooked wild rice, browned chicken, and 1 cup of the cheddar cheese to the soup mixture. Stir until evenly combined. Taste and adjust salt as needed. Transfer to the prepared baking dish and spread into an even layer.
- Top with cheese. Scatter the remaining 1/2 cup cheddar and all of the Monterey Jack evenly over the top. Cover the dish tightly with aluminum foil.
- Bake covered. Bake at 350°F for 30 minutes, until the filling is heated through and beginning to bubble at the edges.
- Uncover and finish. Remove the foil and bake an additional 15 minutes, until the cheese on top is melted, golden, and spotty with brown. Let the casserole rest 5 minutes before serving.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 525 | Protein: 43g | Fat: 25g | Carbs: 31g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 870mg
About the cook who shared this
Linda Johansson
Week 42 of Linda’s 30-year story
· Duluth, Minnesota
Linda is a sixty-three-year-old retired nurse from Duluth, Minnesota, living alone in the house where she raised her children and said goodbye to her husband. She lost Paul to ALS in 2020 after two years of watching the kindest man she'd ever known lose everything but his dignity. She cooks Scandinavian comfort food and Minnesota hotdish and the pot roast Paul loved, and she sets two places at the table out of habit because it makes her feel less alone. Every recipe she writes is a person she's loved.