By Back in Houston after the Dallas excursion. The house felt like home in a way it doesn't always — the smoker in the yard, the photos on the wall, the specific smell of my kitchen which is a combination of fish sauce, coffee, and the ghost of ten thousand meals. I needed to cook. I needed to be in my own space with my own equipment and make something that wasn't Dallas catering.
Smoked a pork butt — eight hours over hickory, rubbed with my standard blend plus a generous dose of lemongrass paste worked into the meat. Pulled it at 203 degrees internal, shredded it, and made two things: a batch of pulled pork banh mi and a batch of pulled pork spring rolls. The banh mi were magnificent — the pork on a crusty baguette with pickled daikon and carrots, jalapeño, cilantro, mayo, and a drizzle of Sriracha. The combination of smoky American BBQ pork on a French-Vietnamese sandwich is the kind of cross-cultural accident that works so perfectly it feels deliberate.
Kevin came to Tuesday's meeting. Three months sober. He's settled into the bakery job — 4 AM wake-ups, which he says he doesn't mind because "the world is quiet at 4 AM and that's what I need right now." He's learning to make croissants, laminated doughs, things that require precision and patience. I told him that baking and BBQ are the same: you follow the process, you trust the timing, you don't rush. He said, "And if you mess up, you start over." I said, "That too."
Emma called Thursday. She's been to the doctor. Everything is fine, she said, but "fine" was doing a lot of work in that sentence. She's still trying. She didn't want to talk about it in detail and I didn't push. There are conversations where a father's job is to listen and say "I'm here" and nothing else. This was one of those.
Saturday at Mai's. She was still talking about the Dallas wedding. Specifically, the deconstructed crème brûlée. She said, "Why do they take it apart? The whole point is it's together." I tried to explain the concept of deconstruction in modern cuisine. She said, "That is silly." She is not wrong.
The banh mi were the main event that week, but when I had folks stopping by the house over the weekend, I needed something quicker — something I could plate up without firing the smoker for another eight-hour run. These Fruity Chicken Salad Mini Sandwiches hit that same sweet spot I love about a good banh mi: bright, crunchy, a little sweet, all on good bread. They’re the kind of thing you can put together in your own kitchen, in your own time, and feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Fruity Chicken Salad Mini Sandwiches
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 3 cups cooked chicken breast, finely diced
- 1/2 cup seedless red grapes, quartered
- 1/2 cup mandarin orange segments, drained and chopped
- 1/3 cup celery, finely diced
- 1/4 cup pecans, toasted and chopped
- 1/3 cup mayonnaise
- 2 tablespoons plain Greek yogurt
- 1 tablespoon honey
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 16 mini croissants or slider rolls, split
- Butter lettuce leaves, for serving
Instructions
- Mix the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, Greek yogurt, honey, Dijon mustard, salt, and pepper until smooth.
- Combine the salad. In a large bowl, toss together the diced chicken, grapes, mandarin oranges, celery, and pecans. Pour the dressing over the mixture and fold gently until everything is evenly coated.
- Taste and adjust. Check seasoning and add more salt or pepper if needed. For a brighter flavor, squeeze in a small amount of fresh lemon juice.
- Assemble the sandwiches. Place a butter lettuce leaf on the bottom half of each mini croissant or slider roll. Spoon a generous portion of the chicken salad on top and close with the top half.
- Serve. Arrange on a platter and serve immediately, or cover and refrigerate for up to 2 hours before serving.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 285 | Protein: 18g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 390mg