Grilled Lemon Chicken

Memorial Day. The day for the dead and the living who carry them.

Bonaventure Cemetery. Three stops this year instead of two. Michael first — always Michael first, under the live oak with the Spanish moss. I brought yellow roses and I told him about Kayla's work at Memorial, and how she's already one of the best nurses on the cardiac unit, and how she saved a man last week who reminded her of Earl. Then Mama and Daddy — side by side, as always, two people who loved each other imperfectly and permanently.

Then Earl. The headstone is still new — the granite is sharp-edged, not yet softened by weather and time. It says "Earl Thomas Henderson, 1949-2019, Beloved Husband, Father, Grandfather." I wanted to add "Great-Grandfather" but he died three months after Amara was born and the headstone was ordered before I thought of it. I'll remember. The headstone will forget. That's the cruelty of stone — it holds what you tell it and nothing else.

I sat with Earl for an hour. I told him about the garden. The Cherokee Purples are growing well — Denise tends them, but they're still his. I told him about Amara — seven months now, pulling herself up on furniture, already showing the Henderson stubbornness. I told him about the grill. "I used your grill, Earl," I said. "I lit it myself. You would have told me I was holding the tongs wrong." I swear I heard him laugh. I didn't. But I swear I did.

Denise and Robert came for dinner. Ribs — James Sr.'s dry rub, the one Daddy used before his hands got too shaky. Low and slow. Five hours. I stood at the grill alone and I thought about Daddy at the grill when I was little, before Willie James drowned, before the drinking, when he was just a man cooking ribs for his family on a summer evening. The food carries them all, baby. Every recipe is a ghost story with a good ending.

Now go on and feed somebody.

The ribs were James Sr.’s — his recipe, his rub, his five hours of patience — and I’ll keep those close until I can write them down properly. But this grilled lemon chicken is what I make when I need the grill lit and something good on the table without ceremony demanding too much of me. It’s bright and simple and it feeds people, which is what Earl always said a good cook was supposed to do. You stand at the fire, you tend what’s in front of you, and you feed somebody. That’s the whole of it.

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

Ingredients

4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 2 lbs)
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 large lemon)
1 teaspoon lemon zest
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Fresh parsley, chopped, for serving
Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

Make the marinade. In a small bowl, whisk together olive oil, lemon juice, lemon zest, garlic, oregano, thyme, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper until combined.
Marinate the chicken. Place chicken thighs in a zip-top bag or shallow dish. Pour the marinade over the chicken, turning to coat evenly. Seal and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or up to 4 hours for deeper flavor.
Prepare the grill. Heat your grill to medium heat (about 375°F). Clean and oil the grates to prevent sticking.
Grill skin-side down first. Remove chicken from marinade and shake off excess. Place thighs skin-side down on the grill. Cook for 8–10 minutes without moving, until the skin is golden and releases cleanly from the grates.
Flip and finish. Turn chicken over and grill another 15–20 minutes, until an instant-read thermometer inserted near the bone reads 165°F. If flare-ups occur, move chicken to indirect heat.
Rest and serve. Transfer chicken to a cutting board and let rest 5 minutes. Scatter with fresh parsley and serve with lemon wedges alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Grilled Lemon Chicken — Low and Slow, Like Daddy Used to Make