Easy Chicken & Rice

Memorial Day weekend. The holiday that used to mean family cookouts and ribs on the grill and Marcus in the backyard with his cousins playing football. This year it means something different. This year it means remembering, which is what Memorial Day was always supposed to mean but which I only understand now, because remembering was easy when the person you are remembering was in the next room eating potato salad. Remembering is hard when the person you are remembering is in the ground.

I did not have a cookout. I did not grill ribs. I did not invite the family. I cooked a quiet meal for me and Calvin — baked chicken, rice, green beans — and we ate at the table and we talked about Marcus. Not about the accident. About Marcus. About the time he tried to grill burgers at age fourteen and produced charcoal that Calvin politely called seasoned. About the time he ate an entire peach cobbler meant for the church picnic and I had to make a second one in two hours. About his grin. About his laugh. About the way he said Mama like it was a song with two notes, both of them mine.

Calvin cried. At the table. With his fork in his hand. The tears came the way rain comes in Alabama — suddenly, without warning, and then they were gone. He wiped his eyes and ate his chicken and I reached across the table and held his hand and we sat there, a man and a woman at a table meant for five, holding hands across the empty space, and the holding was the memorial. Better than any cookout. Better than any flag. The holding of hands across a table that should be fuller than it is.

Doris called from Hoover. James called from Montgomery. They asked how I was doing. I said I am cooking again. The cooking was the answer they needed, because in this family, cooking is the vital sign. If Loretta is cooking, Loretta is alive. If the stove is on, the woman is standing. And I am standing. Not tall. Not strong. But standing. At the stove. With a chicken in the oven and green beans on the burner and a husband at the table and a hole in the world where my son used to be, and the hole does not close, the hole does not shrink, but I am standing beside it now instead of inside it, and standing beside it is progress.

I made banana pudding on Sunday. The first dessert since the mac and cheese. Nilla wafers layered the way Mama layers them — like sedimentary rock, like a prayer made of cookies and custard, like the accumulation of everything sweet in a world that has shown me its cruelest face. Marcus loved banana pudding. He ate it before it was set. He always ate it before it was set. I made it and I let it set and I ate it at the proper temperature and I thought: this is the difference. I have time now. I have all the time in the world. The boy who rushed the pudding is not here to rush it, and the pudding sets properly, and the setting properly is the saddest sentence I have ever written.

The chicken and rice I made for me and Calvin that evening wasn’t fancy. It didn’t need to be. It needed to be warm and it needed to be ready and it needed to fill the kitchen with a smell that said somebody lives here, somebody is trying. This is the recipe I used—simple enough to make when your hands are steady but your heart is not, good enough to sit across from someone you love and eat slowly and remember the people who should be eating it with you.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour | Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 2 pounds)
1 1/2 cups long-grain white rice
2 1/2 cups chicken broth
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon butter
Fresh parsley for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 375°F. Season the chicken thighs on both sides with paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper.
Sear the chicken. Heat olive oil in a large oven-safe skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Place the chicken skin-side down and sear for 4–5 minutes until golden brown. Flip and sear the other side for 2 minutes. Remove the chicken and set aside.
Cook the aromatics. Reduce heat to medium. Add butter, diced onion, and a pinch of salt to the same skillet. Cook for 3–4 minutes until the onion softens. Add garlic and thyme and cook for 1 minute, stirring frequently.
Add rice and broth. Stir the rice into the skillet, coating it in the drippings. Pour in the chicken broth and stir, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Bring to a gentle simmer.
Bake together. Nestle the seared chicken thighs skin-side up on top of the rice. Cover the skillet tightly with a lid or aluminum foil. Transfer to the oven and bake for 40–45 minutes, until the rice is tender and the chicken reaches an internal temperature of 165°F.
Rest and serve. Remove from the oven and let rest, covered, for 5 minutes. The rice will absorb any remaining liquid. Garnish with parsley if desired and serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Easy Chicken & Rice — A Quiet Meal for a Table Meant for Five