Nectarine Chicken Salad

Danny's birthday. He would have been twenty-six. I went to Holy Cross in the morning, sat by the headstone, and told him about living with Megan. I told him she leaves her reading glasses everywhere and hums while she grades papers and eats nachos with a fork. I told him he'd like her. I told him she'd roast him within five minutes of meeting him and he'd love it. I told him I miss him. The cemetery was green and quiet and the sprinklers were running and the morning sun was warm on my face and for a few minutes the gap between the living and the dead felt thin enough to reach across.

Megan knew where I went. She didn't ask about it. She had breakfast ready when I got home — scrambled eggs, slightly overcooked, toast, coffee. Her cooking is still limited but her instincts are perfect. She knows when to cook and when to order pizza and when to just be present. She handed me the plate and said, "How's Danny?" Like he was a friend I'd visited. Like he was still someone you could check on. I said, "He's good." And that was that.

August pierogi challenge: peach and mascarpone. Fresh Georgia peaches, peeled and diced, mixed with mascarpone and a touch of vanilla. Sweet pierogi for summer — Babcia's lineage, expanded. The peach has to be ripe but not soft, or the filling becomes soup. I served them with a drizzle of honey and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Megan ate six and said, "These might be better than the strawberry ones." They are. But I'll keep making both.

At the brewery, we're heading into the home stretch of summer production. September will bring the Oktoberfest again and the whole fall transition. I've been at Lakefront for almost six years now. I'm twenty-five. I'm good at this. I could do this for the rest of my life and be happy. Or I could do something else. The pierogi thought — the selling thought, the someday-shop thought — is still there. I'm not chasing it. I'm just not running from it.

The peach mascarpone pierogi already had me thinking in stone fruit all week — the way a ripe nectarine and a ripe peach are practically the same conversation just spoken with a different accent. After a morning at Holy Cross and a quiet breakfast with Megan, I wanted to keep that soft, summery thread going into dinner without turning the whole day heavy. This nectarine chicken salad is the answer to that: bright and grounding at the same time, the kind of thing you make when you want the season to last just a little longer.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 1 lb total)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
3 ripe but firm nectarines, pitted and sliced into wedges
5 oz baby arugula or mixed greens
1/4 cup thinly sliced red onion
1/3 cup crumbled goat cheese or feta
1/4 cup toasted sliced almonds
For the dressing:
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 teaspoon honey
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

Season and cook the chicken. Pat chicken breasts dry and rub with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Heat a grill pan or skillet over medium-high heat. Cook chicken 6–7 minutes per side until internal temperature reaches 165°F. Remove from heat and let rest 5 minutes before slicing thin.
Make the dressing. Whisk together olive oil, white wine vinegar, honey, and Dijon mustard in a small bowl until emulsified. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Prep the nectarines. While the chicken rests, pit and slice nectarines into wedges. They should be ripe enough to be fragrant but firm enough to hold their shape in the salad — same rule as the pierogi filling.
Assemble the salad. Arrange arugula on a large platter or in a wide bowl. Top with sliced chicken, nectarine wedges, red onion, goat cheese, and toasted almonds.
Dress and serve. Drizzle dressing over the top just before serving. Toss gently or serve composed. Best eaten immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Nectarine Chicken Salad — The Stone Fruit That Kept Summer Going