Year five, week two hundred and sixty. The final week. I have been looking back at the year, not with nostalgia but with the accounting precision of a man who measures progress in meals. Three hundred and sixty-four dinners. Fifty-two Sunday dinners at Mama's. Fourteen FaceTime meals with the kids when they were at Brianna's and I was alone with my plate. Two catering events. One name on a refrigerator. One dream taking shape.
The food is better than it was a year ago. It is always better than it was a year ago, because the practice is daily and the learning is constant and the feedback — from my children, from Mama, from Jerome, from the people who eat what I make — is honest and immediate. The smothered pork chops are ninety-five percent of Mama's. The fried chicken is ninety. The gumbo is its own thing now — not a copy of Mama's but a conversation with it, my voice and her voice and the voice of the women before her, all mixed into one pot. The food is me. The food has always been me. I just did not know it until I started cooking.
I grilled on the last Sunday of Year 5. Burgers for the kids, ribs for myself, chicken for Mr. Peterson, who appeared at the balcony as reliably as sunrise. The grill was hot. The smoke rose. Detroit was visible from the balcony — the skyline in the distance, the neighborhoods close, the city that raised me and broke me and fed me and holds me. I stood at the grill and looked at the city and thought: this is where Carter's Kitchen belongs. Not in a fancy neighborhood. Not in a food truck on a trendy street. Here. In Detroit. In the neighborhood. Serving the food that this city built, from the ingredients this city provides, to the people this city holds.
Five years complete. The food holds. The man holds. The dream holds. And the grill — the small charcoal Weber on the four-foot balcony, the first grill, the one that started everything — the grill stays hot.
Mr. Peterson showed up at the balcony railing the same way he always did — without announcement, right when the smoke started rising — and I was not about to let the last Sunday of Year 5 be anything less than right by him. Grilled chicken with salsa is what I had going for him that day: bright, honest food that does not need to hide behind a long ingredient list, just a hot grate and something worth cooking for. After five years of learning what my food is supposed to say, I can tell you that this recipe says exactly what I mean.
Grilled Chicken With Salsa
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 oz each)
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1 teaspoon onion powder
- 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon cumin
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 3 Roma tomatoes, diced
- 1/2 small red onion, finely diced
- 1 jalapeño, seeded and minced
- 1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped
- Juice of 1 lime
- 1/4 teaspoon salt (for salsa)
Instructions
- Make the salsa. Combine diced tomatoes, red onion, jalapeño, cilantro, lime juice, and 1/4 teaspoon salt in a bowl. Stir to combine and set aside at room temperature to let the flavors come together while you prep the chicken.
- Season the chicken. Pat chicken breasts dry with paper towels. Brush both sides with olive oil. Mix garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, cumin, salt, and black pepper in a small bowl, then rub the mixture evenly over both sides of each breast.
- Heat the grill. Prepare a charcoal or gas grill for medium-high direct heat, around 400°F. Clean and oil the grates well.
- Grill the chicken. Place chicken on the grill and cook for 6–7 minutes per side without pressing down, until the internal temperature reaches 165°F and grill marks are deep and defined. Resist moving the chicken before it releases naturally from the grate.
- Rest and serve. Transfer chicken to a clean plate and let rest 5 minutes. Spoon salsa generously over each breast and serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 280 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 420mg
About the cook who shared this
DeShawn Carter
Week 247 of DeShawn’s 30-year story
· Detroit, Michigan
DeShawn is a thirty-six-year-old single dad, auto plant worker, and a man who didn't learn to cook until his wife left and his five-year-old asked, "Daddy, can you cook something?" He called his mama, who came over with two bags of groceries and spent six months teaching him the basics. Now he's the dad at the cookout who brings the ribs, the guy at the plant whose leftover gumbo starts fights, and living proof that it's never too late to learn.