Grilled Breaded Chicken

The longest day of the year — summer solstice — and the apartment is bright until 9 PM and the kids refuse to believe it's bedtime because the sun is still up and the sun is a liar and I am losing the bedtime war to a star. Nashville in late June is a sauna that someone left the lights on in. The humidity wraps around you like a warm, wet blanket that you didn't ask for and can't remove. I love it. I hate it. The Nashville relationship with summer: complicated.

Chloe's cooking camp starts next week. She's been preparing — reading recipes, practicing knife skills on cucumbers (under supervision, with a chef's knife that's too big for her hands but that she wields with the confidence of a woman who has made chicken parmesan from scratch). She asked me: "Mama, when did you know you loved cooking?" I said: "When I was eleven. When Mama was working doubles and I was making dinner for you guys — for Kevin and Amber — and the food came out right and I realized that I could DO this. I could feed people. I could make something from nothing. That was the moment." She said: "Mine was the pecan pie. Thanksgiving. When Mama said 'that's right.'" The pecan pie. Lorraine's seal of approval. That's her origin story. Every cook has one. Hers starts with a pie and a grandmother's verdict.

Jayden found a stray cat behind the apartment complex. A orange tabby — ORANGE, of course, because the universe has a sense of humor and Jayden's brand extends to animals. He named it "Blaze" (the name he suggested for Elijah, repurposed for a cat). He wants to keep it. I said: "We live in a two-bedroom apartment with three kids and no pet deposit." He said: "Blaze can sleep with me." He said: "Blaze is ORANGE, Mama." As if the color is the argument. As if chromaticity is a valid reason to adopt a stray cat. (It's not. But the look on his face is a valid reason to consider it. I'm considering it. I hate that I'm considering it.)

Elijah is sixteen months and has entered the climbing phase. He climbs: the couch, the chairs, the coffee table (the nemesis has become a summit), the bookshelf (ONCE, while my back was turned for three seconds, and the resulting extraction required physical intervention and a heart attack that I haven't recovered from). The climbing is the walking's aggressive older brother. The walking said: I go places. The climbing says: I go places VERTICALLY. The baby gate is a stepstool now. He stands on it and looks over it with the triumph of a mountaineer at base camp. The gate is defeated. The toddler is ascending. Gravity has filed a restraining order.

I made grilled chicken salad — the summer dinner, the it's-too-hot-to-cook-but-I-grilled-the-chicken-anyway dinner. Romaine, grilled chicken, avocado, corn, tomatoes, ranch dressing (homemade — I refuse store-bought ranch because ranch is a lifestyle choice and I have chosen correctly). Jayden ate the chicken and the corn. Chloe ate everything. Elijah ate the orange components (chicken, corn, ranch-adjacent). The salad served three dietary philosophies simultaneously. Democratic dinner. Everyone fed. Nobody happy about the lettuce.

When the solstice heat makes turning on the oven feel like a personal failing, I still can’t bring myself to skip the grill — there’s something about the char and the smell that says dinner is happening in a way that no rotisserie chicken from a bag ever will. This grilled breaded chicken is what I came back to that night: a little crunch, a little smokiness, sliced over cold romaine with the corn and avocado and the ranch I made because I have opinions. It fed three dietary philosophies. Nobody complained about the chicken.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 16 min | Total Time: 31 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 oz each), pounded to even 3/4-inch thickness
3/4 cup Italian-seasoned breadcrumbs
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp onion powder
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp black pepper
2 tbsp Dijon mustard
1 tbsp olive oil, plus more for grill grates

Instructions

Preheat the grill. Heat an outdoor grill or grill pan to medium-high (about 400°F). Brush grates lightly with olive oil to prevent sticking.
Make the coating. In a shallow dish, combine breadcrumbs, Parmesan, garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Stir to mix evenly.
Coat the chicken. In a small bowl, whisk together the Dijon mustard and 1 tablespoon olive oil. Brush the mixture over all sides of each chicken breast, then press firmly into the breadcrumb mixture to coat both sides.
Grill. Place coated chicken on the hot grill. Cook 7–8 minutes per side, without pressing down, until the coating is golden and the internal temperature reads 165°F on an instant-read thermometer. Resist moving the chicken before it releases naturally from the grates or the crust will tear.
Rest and slice. Transfer to a cutting board and rest 5 minutes before slicing. Slice on the bias for salad service, or serve whole as an entrée.

Nutrition (per serving)

Grilled Breaded Chicken — The It’s-Too-Hot-to-Cook-But-I-Grilled-Anyway Dinner