Parmesan Chicken Cutlets

Christmas Day. My birthday. The day that belongs to Jesus and to me, in that order, though Mama always said the Lord shared well and would not mind if we celebrated both. I am forty-seven years old today. Forty-seven years of breathing and cooking and loving and standing at stoves in kitchens that smelled like home, and I do not feel forty-seven. I feel timeless. I feel like I have been cooking since before I had hands and will be cooking after I am done with this body, standing at some heavenly stove, teaching angels the proper temperature for fried chicken.

The morning started with Calvin's Christmas service at New Hope. He preached about the manger and the miracle of God choosing the lowest place to put the highest gift, and I sat in the front pew in my Christmas dress — the red one with the gold buttons that I wear every year because some traditions are worth repeating — and I said amen when I meant it, which was often, because Calvin preaches Christmas better than he preaches anything else. Christmas is when his voice reaches its fullest register, when the joy and the reverence come together like harmony, and I fall in love with the vessel again, the way I do every Sunday but especially this Sunday.

Calvin Junior drove from Huntsville. Destiny was home from UAB. Marcus was there, of course, dressed in the shirt I ironed for him, eating everything within reach. We came home from church and I cooked the Christmas dinner: fried chicken, collard greens with smoked turkey necks, mac and cheese, candied yams, cornbread, sweet potato pie, pound cake, and the coconut cake that I spent all day Tuesday making. The table was set for five, plus the place I always set for Mama in spirit — not a literal place setting, just the awareness that she is at every table I set, in every dish I serve, in the way I hum while I cook, which is her hum, her hymn, her kitchen living through mine.

Marcus gave me the apron. I acted surprised. It was white with red trim and it said Kitchen Boss in stitched letters. He said he picked it out himself, which Destiny later confirmed was true — Destiny only told me it was an apron, not the specific one. I tied it on over my Christmas dress and wore it while I served dinner and my children laughed and my husband smiled and the kitchen was warm and the food was right and I was forty-seven years old and surrounded by everyone I love who is alive and present and eating. That is the birthday gift. That is always the birthday gift. Presence. Plates. People at the table.

Called Mama after dinner. She was at Doris's house in Hoover. She said my coconut cake could use more coconut. She has not tasted my coconut cake. She is Bernice Simms. She is always right, and she is always wrong about this particular cake, and I love her for both.

After a birthday dinner that full — all that warmth, all those people, Mama on the phone critiquing a cake she’s never tasted — I wanted the next meal to be simple and satisfying in a quieter way, something that didn’t ask much of me but still felt like a real effort. Parmesan chicken cutlets are exactly that: crisp, golden, honest food that comes together fast and disappears faster. Here’s how I make them.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 5

Ingredients

2 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 5 medium), pounded to 1/2-inch thickness
1 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
1 cup seasoned breadcrumbs
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons whole milk
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup vegetable oil, for pan-frying
Fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Set up your dredging station. Place three shallow dishes in a row. Add flour to the first. In the second, whisk together the eggs and milk until smooth. In the third, combine the Parmesan, breadcrumbs, garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Stir until evenly mixed.
Pound and prep the chicken. Place each chicken breast between two sheets of plastic wrap or in a zip bag. Using a meat mallet or heavy skillet, pound to an even 1/2-inch thickness so the cutlets cook evenly and stay tender all the way through.
Dredge each cutlet. Working one at a time, coat the chicken in flour and shake off the excess. Dip fully into the egg wash, letting any drip off. Press firmly into the Parmesan breadcrumb mixture on both sides, making sure the coating adheres all the way to the edges.
Heat the oil. Pour the vegetable oil into a large heavy skillet—cast iron is ideal—and heat over medium-high until shimmering, about 2 minutes. You want enough oil to come halfway up the sides of the cutlets for an even, golden crust.
Fry the cutlets. Working in batches to avoid crowding, lay the cutlets gently into the hot oil. Cook 4 to 5 minutes per side, undisturbed, until the crust is deep golden brown and the internal temperature reads 165°F. Resist the urge to press them down—let the crust set.
Drain and rest. Transfer finished cutlets to a wire rack set over a baking sheet, not paper towels, so the bottoms stay crisp. Let them rest for 3 to 4 minutes before serving. This is when you tie on your apron and call everyone to the table.
Garnish and serve. Arrange on a platter, scatter with chopped parsley if desired, and serve alongside whatever the season and your people demand—collard greens, candied yams, mac and cheese, cornbread. The cutlets hold beautifully and stay crisp even as the table fills up.

Nutrition (per serving)

Parmesan Chicken Cutlets — The Golden Crust I Serve at the Christmas Table Where Mama’s Place Is Always Set