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High Protein Chicken Chili — Enough for the Family That Used to Be

The first full week without Terrence. The apartment has been rearranged by absence. The closet where his clothes hung is just my clothes now. The bathroom shelf where the coconut shampoo sat is empty — I haven't filled it with anything because filling it would mean accepting that the space is mine again, and I'm not ready to accept that. The space is his. It's on loan. Like the fire helmet.

Monday: Chloe asked if she could call Terrence. I said yes. She called him on my phone, on speaker, and told him about her third-grade teacher's hamster, Mr. Whiskers, who escaped his cage and was found in the art supply closet. She talked for nine minutes. Nine minutes of hamster news. Terrence listened to every word. When she hung up, she said, "He's still there, Mama. He's just in Atlanta." He's still there. He's just in Atlanta. My seven-year-old just said the most mature thing I've heard all year. He's still there. Geography is not the same as gone.

Jayden doesn't talk about Terrence. He doesn't ask. He wears a new helmet — a plastic one from the dollar store, not the same, not the real one, but functional — and he goes to pre-K and he comes home and he plays fire trucks and he doesn't mention the man who left with his best helmet. I don't know if this is resilience or repression and the difference between the two keeps me up at night. Four-year-old boys are inscrutable. They are small, loud mysteries wrapped in ketchup and bravery.

I went back to work and pretended nothing had changed. The teeth are the same. The scraper is the same. The patients are the same. Mrs. Henderson brought butterscotch again and said, "You look better, honey." I do not look better. I look like a woman who cried in the shower this morning. But Mrs. Henderson is seventy-three and either deeply kind or deeply blind and I'll take either one.

Terrence texted Wednesday: a photo of the fire helmet on his nightstand in the Decatur apartment. Caption: "Keeping it safe." I saved the photo. I'll probably save every photo he ever sends. The fire helmet on a nightstand in Atlanta, keeping a four-year-old's promise, proving that borrowed things get taken care of, proving that the man who left is still holding what we gave him. Keeping it safe. All of it. The helmet and the love and the orange heart and the memory of an apartment in Hermitage where four toothbrushes lived for a while.

I made chili. A massive, inappropriate amount of chili for a family of three. I made enough chili for six people because my hands haven't adjusted to cooking for three instead of... whatever we were. Three plus Terrence. Three point Terrence. The decimal that lived in my kitchen and left. The chili fed us for four days. Four days of the same meal, the same spoon, the same pot on the stove, because reheating is easier than deciding to make something new. Something new means the routine has changed. Chili means it hasn't. Not yet.

The chili I made that week wasn’t planned — my hands just made too much of it, the way they always do when I’m not thinking, the way they did when there were four of us. This High Protein Chicken Chili is the one I keep coming back to: it’s filling enough that Chloe stops asking for snacks, hearty enough that Jayden eats two bowls without negotiation, and it reheats on the stove in the same pot, same spoon, same five minutes, which right now is exactly the kind of routine I need. Make a big batch. Let it feed you for a few days. That’s not laziness — that’s grace.

High Protein Chicken Chili

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 55 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 1 large yellow onion, diced
  • 4 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 red bell pepper, diced
  • 1 green bell pepper, diced
  • 2 cans (15 oz each) white kidney beans (cannellini), drained and rinsed
  • 1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
  • 1 can (28 oz) diced tomatoes, with juices
  • 2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
  • 2 tablespoons chili powder
  • 1 teaspoon ground cumin
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)
  • Toppings: shredded cheddar, sour cream, sliced green onions, fresh cilantro

Instructions

  1. Cook the chicken. Place chicken breasts in a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce to a simmer and cook 18–20 minutes until cooked through. Remove chicken, let cool slightly, then shred with two forks. Reserve 1/2 cup of cooking liquid and discard the rest.
  2. Sauté the aromatics. In the same large pot, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onion and cook 4–5 minutes until softened. Add garlic and both bell peppers; cook another 3 minutes, stirring frequently.
  3. Add beans and tomatoes. Stir in the cannellini beans, black beans, diced tomatoes with their juices, and chicken broth. Add the reserved cooking liquid.
  4. Season the chili. Add chili powder, cumin, smoked paprika, oregano, salt, black pepper, and cayenne if using. Stir well to combine.
  5. Simmer. Return the shredded chicken to the pot. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat to low. Simmer uncovered for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the chili thickens and flavors meld.
  6. Taste and serve. Adjust seasoning as needed. Ladle into bowls and top with shredded cheese, sour cream, green onions, or cilantro. Refrigerates well for up to 5 days; reheat gently on the stovetop over low heat.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 410 | Protein: 46g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 10g | Sodium: 540mg

Sarah Mitchell
About the cook who shared this
Sarah Mitchell
Week 181 of Sarah’s 30-year story · Nashville, Tennessee
Sarah is a single mom of three, a dental hygienist, and a Nashville girl through and through. She started cooking at eleven out of necessity — feeding her younger siblings while her mama worked double shifts — and never stopped. Her kitchen is tiny, her budget is tight, and her chicken and dumplings will make you want to cry. She writes for every mom who's ever felt like she's not doing enough. Spoiler: you are.

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