Mom’s Chicken and Dumplings — The Recipe That Stretches the Line

Mother's Day. My first Mother's Day as someone who is becoming a mother. I'm not technically a mother yet — the baby is the size of a blueberry, according to the app I downloaded that compares fetal development to fruit, which is either helpful or disturbing depending on how you feel about eating blueberries now. Ryan made me breakfast. He attempted Mom's pancakes — the buttermilk ones — and they were... effort. They were flat and slightly burned and he served them with the anxious pride of a man who has never made pancakes in his life but who Googled 'how to make pancakes' at 4 AM. I ate three. They were terrible. I told him they were great. The cycle of love-through-bad-cooking continues. I called Mom. 'Happy Mother's Day, Mom. From your pregnant daughter.' 'Don't make me cry, Rachel.' 'You're already crying.' 'I am NOT — okay, I'm crying.' We talked for an hour. She told me about being pregnant with Megan — her first, the one that terrified her most. 'I didn't know anything,' she said. 'I was twenty-two and your father was deployed and I called my mother every single night and she talked me through it. And now here I am, and here you are, and you're going to call me every single night and I'm going to talk you through it.' 'Every night?' 'Every night. I'll tell you what to cook for dinner and I'll tell you what to expect with the baby and I'll tell you you're going to be fine. That's the deal. That's what mothers do.' The deal. Every night. Mom will call. Mom will tell me what to cook. Mom will tell me I'm fine. This is the inheritance. Not the recipe cards — those too, but this is the bigger one. The nightly phone call. The voice that says 'you're fine' when you're not sure. The woman on the other end of the line who knows what you're feeling because she felt it first, twenty years ago, in a different apartment, on a different base. I made Mom's chicken and dumplings tonight — my version, getting better, the dumplings almost right. Not golf balls anymore. More like tennis balls. Progress. Ryan ate two bowls and said, 'Happy Mother's Day.' And I sat there, twenty years old, pregnant with a blueberry, eating tennis-ball dumplings in a base housing apartment, and I thought: I'm a mother. Or I'm becoming one. And my mother is on the other end of the phone. And her mother was on the other end of her phone. The line doesn't break. It stretches.

This is the recipe Mom walked me through on one of those every-night phone calls — the one I made on my first Mother’s Day with dumplings the size of tennis balls and a husband who ate two bowls anyway. I’ve made it dozens of times since, and the dumplings are finally getting closer to hers. If you’re becoming something new and need a bowl of something that feels like a phone call from your mom, this is the one.

Mom’s Chicken and Dumplings

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 medium yellow onion, diced
• 3 stalks celery, diced
• 3 medium carrots, peeled and sliced into 1/4-inch rounds
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
• 6 cups chicken broth
• 1 cup whole milk
• 1 teaspoon dried thyme
• 1 bay leaf
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 1 cup frozen peas
• 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped

For the Dumplings:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 tablespoon baking powder
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• 3/4 cup buttermilk
• 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Instructions

1. Cook the chicken. Place chicken breasts in a large Dutch oven or heavy-bottomed pot. Cover with chicken broth and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 15–18 minutes until cooked through. Remove chicken, shred with two forks, and set aside. Reserve the broth.
2. Build the soup base. In the same pot, melt 2 tablespoons butter over medium heat. Add onion, celery, and carrots. Cook for 5–6 minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more.
3. Make the creamy broth. Sprinkle flour over the vegetables and stir constantly for 1 minute. Slowly pour in the reserved broth and milk, stirring to prevent lumps. Add thyme and bay leaf. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. Season with salt and pepper.
4. Return the chicken. Add the shredded chicken back to the pot and stir to combine. Let simmer while you prepare the dumplings.
5. Mix the dumpling dough. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar. Pour in buttermilk and melted butter. Stir with a fork until just combined — the dough should be thick and slightly shaggy. Do not overmix.
6. Drop the dumplings. Using a large spoon, drop heaping spoonfuls of dough onto the surface of the simmering soup, spacing them about an inch apart. You should get 10–12 dumplings.
7. Cover and steam. Cover the pot with a tight-fitting lid and simmer on low for 14–16 minutes. Do not lift the lid during this time — the steam is what makes the dumplings fluffy.
8. Finish and serve. Remove the lid and discard the bay leaf. Stir in frozen peas and let them warm through for 2 minutes. Sprinkle with fresh parsley and serve in deep bowls.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 435 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 45g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 980mg