Second week of March. Denise has been gone seven years. March 7, 2010. I don't mark the anniversary the way I mark her birthday — no special meal, no plate at the table. The anniversary is private, interior, a door I open and close inside myself. I woke up Tuesday morning — the seventh — and lay in bed for a few minutes before the alarm, staring at the ceiling, and I said her name in the dark: "Denise." Just once. Just to hear it. Just to prove that a name spoken in an empty room is not empty — it's full of the person it belongs to, and saying it is a way of saying: I remember. I will always remember.
Rosetta was awake. She's always awake on the seventh. She reached across the bed and found my hand and held it, and we lay there in the dark for five minutes, not speaking, and the silence was not silence — it was a conversation between two people who have shared the worst thing that can happen to parents and survived it, not because they're strong but because they had each other and had no other choice.
Then I got up and walked the mail route and delivered letters and came home and made dinner and went to bed and that was March 7th, seven years after, and the world kept turning the way it does, indifferent to the dates that break us, and we kept turning with it, because what else is there?
The rest of the week was ordinary, and I was grateful for ordinary. Ordinary is underrated. Ordinary is the mail route without incident, the smoker without malfunction, the dinner without drama. Ordinary is Rosetta reading on the couch while I watch the evening news. Ordinary is Walter Jr. texting a photo of DeAndre's homework (a drawing of a chicken, labeled "Grandpa's BBQ," which is either a compliment to my cooking or an insult to my appearance, and I choose to see it as both). Ordinary is calling Mama and hearing her voice, even when the voice is confused, even when she calls me Walter, even when she forgets that I visited yesterday.
Saturday I made something simple: smoked chicken salad. This is Big E's concession to health — a dish that contains enough vegetables to satisfy Rosetta and enough smoke to satisfy me, a diplomatic meal, a treaty on a plate. I took leftover smoked chicken — breast and thigh, shredded — and mixed it with diced celery, red onion, a handful of pecans (toasted, because raw pecans are a wasted opportunity), and a dressing of mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, lemon juice, salt, and pepper. Served it on croissants because even my healthy meals need a vehicle that's slightly indulgent, and Rosetta allowed it because the lettuce on the side was her victory.
The chicken salad was good. The smoke carries through into the salad and gives it a depth that regular chicken salad — the church potluck kind, made from boiled chicken and too much mayo — simply doesn't have. Rosetta ate two sandwiches, which is one more than her usual maximum, and I noted this victory in the ongoing war between health and flavor and decided to declare it a draw.
Sunday the choir sang "Blessed Assurance" and the assurance I felt was not blessed exactly but earned — the assurance that comes from fifty-eight years of showing up, of carrying the bag, of tending the fire, of holding the hand in the dark on March 7th. Assurance isn't a feeling. It's a practice. And practice, like BBQ, is something you do every day, whether you feel like it or not, until the doing becomes the feeling and the feeling becomes the faith.
The chicken salad was Saturday’s treaty. But the dish I keep coming back to — the one that earns its place on a quiet week, a week that starts with a name spoken in the dark and ends with a choir hymn — is this lemon basil chicken with Tuscan kale and cauliflower rice. It’s the same philosophy: smoke-touched chicken, bright acid from lemon, enough green to let Rosetta feel like she won, enough flavor to let me feel like nobody lost. It’s a concession that doesn’t taste like one, and some weeks, that’s exactly what a man needs to put on the table.
Lemon Basil Chicken with Tuscan Kale and Cauliflower Rice
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts or thighs
- 3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- Zest and juice of 1 large lemon
- 1/4 cup fresh basil, thinly sliced, plus more for serving
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1 bunch Tuscan (lacinato) kale, stems removed, leaves chopped
- 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
- 1 medium head cauliflower, riced (or 4 cups store-bought cauliflower rice)
- 1/4 cup low-sodium chicken broth
- Pinch of crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
Instructions
- Marinate the chicken. In a bowl or zip-top bag, combine 2 tablespoons olive oil, garlic, lemon zest, lemon juice, basil, 3/4 teaspoon salt, black pepper, and smoked paprika. Add chicken and toss to coat. Let marinate at least 10 minutes at room temperature, or up to 4 hours in the refrigerator.
- Cook the chicken. Heat a large skillet or grill pan over medium-high heat. Remove chicken from marinade and cook 5–6 minutes per side, until cooked through and internal temperature reaches 165°F. Transfer to a cutting board and let rest 5 minutes, then slice or chop.
- Cook the cauliflower rice. In the same pan over medium heat, add a drizzle of olive oil. Add cauliflower rice and chicken broth, season with the remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt, and cook 4–5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until tender and any liquid has evaporated. Transfer to a serving platter or bowl.
- Wilt the kale. Return the pan to medium heat. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and chopped kale. Toss with tongs, add the red wine vinegar, and cook 2–3 minutes until kale is just wilted but still has some texture. Add red pepper flakes if using.
- Assemble and serve. Layer cauliflower rice on plates, top with wilted kale, then sliced lemon basil chicken. Finish with a squeeze of fresh lemon and a scatter of fresh basil. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 12g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 480mg