Monterey BBQ Chicken Pasta

Back from Puerto Rico and Hartford feels even colder than usual, which is what always happens when you return from the island — the cold hits you like a slap, like the weather is punishing you for daring to remember what warmth feels like. I unpacked my suitcase and found at the bottom a bag of sofrito ingredients that Mami packed for me — fresh culantro from the market in Bayamon, recao, aji dulce peppers. She wrapped them in wet paper towels and put them in a plastic bag and smuggled them into my luggage the way other grandmothers smuggle jewelry. This is love, mi amor. Love is a plastic bag of culantro wrapped in wet paper towels.

I made sofrito immediately. The Bayamon culantro was different — more pungent, more green, more EVERYTHING than what I buy in Hartford. I blended it with the aji dulce and the garlic and the onion and the tomato and the kitchen smelled like the porch in Hato Tejas and the coqui frogs and Mami hands stirring beans. I froze the sofrito in ice cube trays and labeled them BAYAMON so I would know which cubes are from the island and which are from Connecticut, because they are not the same. They are never the same. The Puerto Rican sun puts something in the soil that Connecticut cannot replicate, and that something ends up in the culantro and the culantro ends up in the sofrito and the sofrito ends up in everything I cook and the difference is real. It is subtle but it is real.

Miguel Jr. told me he is going to propose to Jenny next week. March. He has a plan — dinner at a restaurant, the ring, the question. I told him, Miguelito, bring her to my house instead. Let me cook. He said, Mami, I want to do it at a restaurant. I said, What restaurant is better than my kitchen? He said, Mami, please. I said, Fine. Go to your restaurant. But bring her to me after. I want to see the ring on her finger. I want to feed her. I want to welcome her into this family with a plate of arroz con pollo and a hug that does not end.

He laughed. He said, I love you, Mami. I said, I know, Miguelito. I know.

Made pollo frito tonight — fried chicken, the Puerto Rican way, marinated in adobo and garlic, coated in seasoned flour, fried until the crust is golden and the meat is juicy and the kitchen sounds like celebration. Sofia ate three pieces and said it was the best fried chicken she has ever had. I said, Of course it is. I taught the chicken to be delicious. She rolled her eyes. I smiled. We are back in Hartford. We are back in the cold. But the sofrito is from Bayamon and the love is from everywhere and the table is set. Always set. Always ready.

Pollo frito got us through the homecoming — the cold, the unpacking, the sweetness of news about Miguel Jr. and Jenny — but my mind is already spinning forward to the dinner I want to make once that ring is on her finger and she walks through my door for the first time as his fiancée. I want something warm and a little smoky, something that says you belong here now without saying a word. This Monterey BBQ Chicken Pasta is that dish: saucy and hearty and the kind of thing you pile high on a plate for someone you are just beginning to love.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

12 oz penne or rotini pasta
1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup your favorite BBQ sauce
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, drained
1/2 cup chicken broth
1/2 cup frozen or canned corn, drained
1/2 cup canned black beans, rinsed and drained
1 1/2 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese
2 green onions, thinly sliced, for garnish

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Drain and set aside.
Season and sear the chicken. Toss chicken pieces with garlic powder, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Heat olive oil in a large oven-safe skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken and cook, stirring occasionally, until golden and cooked through, about 6–8 minutes.
Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Pour BBQ sauce, diced tomatoes, and chicken broth over the chicken. Stir to combine. Add corn and black beans and let everything simmer together for 5 minutes, until the sauce thickens slightly.
Combine with pasta. Add the cooked pasta to the skillet and toss until fully coated in the sauce. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.
Add the cheese. Preheat your oven broiler to high. Sprinkle 1 cup of Monterey Jack cheese and all of the cheddar evenly over the top of the pasta. Broil for 3–5 minutes, watching closely, until the cheese is melted, bubbly, and golden in spots.
Garnish and serve. Remove from oven and scatter the remaining 1/2 cup of Monterey Jack and the sliced green onions over the top. Serve directly from the skillet while hot.

Nutrition (per serving)

Monterey BBQ Chicken Pasta — The Night We Welcomed Jenny to the Table