Mongolian Chicken

Angela came over on Wednesday with wine and lumpia and the particular brand of sisterly directness that has been Angela's superpower since she was six years old and told our Sunday school teacher that the story of Jonah was "not realistic." Angela does not do subtlety. Angela does not do gentle approaches. Angela sits on your couch and opens the wine and says, "So. The firefighter is leaving and you're staying and I need you to tell me you're okay."

I told her I'm okay. She looked at me with the Angela look — the one that says I found you on the kitchen floor, I know what not-okay looks like, and this isn't it but it's adjacent. "I'm okay," I said again. "I'm choosing to stay. It's my choice. The choice is the difference." She nodded. She understands choice. She understands that the 2016 version of me didn't choose anything — the floor chose me, the PTSD chose me, the breakdown happened to me. This — the staying, the letting-go, the choosing Anchorage over a man — this is mine. This is agency. This is what three years of therapy and sertraline and adobo look like when they're working.

We ate the lumpia — Angela's lumpia, which she makes with the same technique as Lourdes but with slightly more garlic, which she will never admit to Lourdes because the garlic quantity in lumpia is a hill the Santos women will die on, each generation insisting their ratio is the correct one. The lumpia were perfect. Hot from the oil, the wrapper crackling, the filling — pork, carrots, onion, garlic — savory and familiar and exactly right.

Angela stayed until midnight. We talked about Jason, about the blog, about James (Angela and James are trying to get pregnant; James is cautiously optimistic), about Joseph on the water, about Mark and Carmen in San Diego getting serious. We talked about Lourdes and the auntie network and the Tupperware containers of adobo that keep appearing in my refrigerator like love notes written in vinegar. We talked about everything except the kitchen floor, because we never talk about the kitchen floor, because talking about it would require acknowledging that I almost didn't make it and Angela almost didn't find me in time and the "almost" is a word neither of us can hold in our mouths without choking.

She left at midnight. I washed the lumpia oil from the pan and the wine glasses from the counter and the apartment was quiet and clean and I stood there in the kitchen — standing, not sitting, not lying, standing, vertical, upright — and I thought: I am okay. Not performing okay. Actually okay. The distinction is everything.

Angela’s lumpia are not shareable — they disappear too fast, and the filling she makes is exactly the kind of savory, garlicky thing I find myself craving for days afterward. When she’s not around to bring them, I reach for this Mongolian Chicken: same deep umami backbone, same unapologetic garlic, same quality of tasting like someone who loves you made it. It’s not lumpia, and I won’t pretend it is — but it’s the kind of meal that keeps you standing at the stove, vertical, upright, present, which some nights is exactly the point.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs, sliced thin against the grain
3 tablespoons cornstarch
3 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
5 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
1/2 cup low-sodium soy sauce
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
1/4 cup water
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
4 green onions, sliced into 1-inch pieces
Steamed white rice, for serving
Sesame seeds, for garnish

Instructions

Coat the chicken. Pat chicken slices dry with a paper towel. Toss in cornstarch until evenly coated. Shake off any excess and set aside on a plate.
Make the sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together soy sauce, brown sugar, water, sesame oil, and red pepper flakes if using. Set aside.
Sear the chicken. Heat 2 tablespoons of vegetable oil in a large skillet or wok over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add chicken in a single layer — work in batches if needed — and cook 3—4 minutes per side until golden and cooked through. Transfer to a plate.
Build the aromatics. Reduce heat to medium. Add remaining 1 tablespoon oil to the pan. Add garlic and ginger and cook, stirring constantly, for 60 seconds until fragrant and just starting to turn golden.
Finish the sauce. Pour the sauce mixture into the pan and stir to combine with the garlic and ginger. Let it simmer 2—3 minutes, stirring occasionally, until it thickens slightly and coats the back of a spoon.
Combine. Return the chicken to the pan and add the green onion pieces. Toss everything together over medium heat for 1—2 minutes until the chicken is fully glazed and the onions have just softened.
Serve. Spoon over steamed white rice. Garnish with sesame seeds. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mongolian Chicken — The Garlic Ratio and Other Things the Santos Women Never Agree On