Creamy Lemon Chicken Francese

Marcus has been at Tuskegee for a week and he calls every evening at eight o'clock, which I did not ask him to do but which he does because he is Marcus and Marcus calls his mother, because that is how he was raised and because he knows that an evening phone call costs him nothing and gives me everything. He talks about the engineering labs, about the professors, about the dormitory that smells like old carpet and new possibilities. He talks about the food, which he describes as edible, which is the most damning compliment a child of Loretta Simms can give to institutional cooking.

I sent him a care package on Wednesday. Two containers of fried chicken, a container of mac and cheese, a bag of my tea cakes, and a note that said eat everything and call me when you are done. He called. He had eaten everything. He said Mama, my roommate wants to know if you can adopt him. I said tell him he is welcome at my table anytime but adoption requires paperwork and I do not do paperwork.

The church kitchen keeps me busy and sane, which are related states. Wednesday night Bible study supper was baked chicken with lemon and rosemary, roasted potatoes, green salad, and dinner rolls. Summer menus are lighter than winter menus because the heat demands it and because collard greens in July feel like wearing a wool coat in August — you can do it but why would you. The church women complimented the chicken. I said thank you and moved on because a cook who lingers over compliments is a cook who is not focused on the next meal.

Destiny is working at the mental health center and coming home tired but purposeful. She talks about her clients the way Calvin talks about his congregation — with love and frustration and the understanding that some people need more than you have to give, and you give it anyway. I feed her extra on the days she looks most hollowed out. An extra piece of cornbread. A bigger slice of pie. The food does not fix what the work breaks. But it shores up the foundations so the breaking does not go all the way through.

Made a fresh tomato pie this week from the garden tomatoes that are finally ripe — red and heavy and warm from the sun. Tomato pie is a Southern thing, a summer thing, a slice of tomato layered with basil and mayo and cheese and baked in a pie crust until the top is bubbly and golden. It tastes like July in a dish. It tastes like the garden walking into the kitchen and sitting down at the table. Calvin ate two slices and said it was the best thing I made all summer. He said that about the peach pie too. He says it about everything. He is a man who has learned to compliment generously, and I am a woman who has learned to accept generously, and between us the kitchen hears a lot of the word best.

The tomato pie fed the soul, but by the end of the week I was craving something that felt a little more like a celebration—something bright and lemony and dressed up, the kind of dish that says the foundations held. Chicken Francese is my answer to that feeling: it’s elegant without being fussy, rich without being heavy, and the lemon cuts through everything like a window opened in a warm room. Calvin doesn’t know the word Francese but he knows what he likes, and I already know what he’ll say when he takes the first bite. Here’s how I made it.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded to even thickness
1/2 cup all-purpose flour, for dredging
Salt and black pepper, to taste
2 large eggs, beaten
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup dry white wine (or low-sodium chicken broth)
1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1/3 cup heavy cream
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 large lemon)
1 teaspoon lemon zest
2 tablespoons capers, drained (optional)
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Lemon slices, for serving

Instructions

Season and dredge. Season chicken breasts on both sides with salt and pepper. Place flour in a shallow dish. Beat eggs in a second shallow dish. Dredge each chicken breast in flour, shaking off any excess, then dip into the beaten egg to coat.
Sear the chicken. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the egg-coated chicken and cook 4 to 5 minutes per side until golden and cooked through (internal temperature 165°F). Transfer to a plate and tent loosely with foil.
Build the sauce base. Reduce heat to medium. Add butter to the same skillet. Once melted, add minced garlic and cook 30 to 60 seconds until fragrant, stirring constantly so it does not brown.
Deglaze and simmer. Pour in the white wine and chicken broth, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook 5 to 6 minutes until the liquid reduces by about a third.
Finish the cream sauce. Stir in the heavy cream, lemon juice, and lemon zest. Add capers if using. Simmer 3 to 4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce is slightly thickened and coats the back of a spoon. Taste and adjust salt and pepper.
Return chicken and serve. Nestle the seared chicken back into the skillet and spoon sauce over each piece. Cook 1 to 2 minutes to warm through. Garnish with fresh parsley and lemon slices. Serve immediately over roasted potatoes, pasta, or rice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Creamy Lemon Chicken Francese — The Church Kitchen Supper That Keeps Everyone Coming Back