By The publisher wrote back. Lowcountry Heritage Press. They want to read the full manuscript. Denise screamed when she read the email — actually screamed, in my kitchen, at a volume that startled Biscuit the cat next door. I said, "Denise, they want to read it. They haven't said yes." She said, "Mama, they didn't say no. That's halfway to yes." She's not wrong. But I am sixty-five years old and I have been told no enough times to know that halfway is not all the way, and I will not celebrate until the book is in my hands with a cover and a spine and my name on the front.
But. But. I am also sixty-five years old and I know that hope is the kindling of everything, and if a small press in Charleston wants to read my story about Pearl and the skillet and the shrimp and grits, then hope is warranted. Hope is warranted and peach cobbler is the appropriate response.
Kayla and Devon signed a lease. A small house near Thunderbolt, twelve minutes from me. Twelve minutes. Not next door — I don't need them next door, I need my independence and they need theirs — but twelve minutes. Close enough that Kayla can stop by after work. Close enough that I can bring them food. Close enough that when the day comes and I need help — and the day will come, baby, I'm sixty-five and my knees have a countdown clock — they'll be twelve minutes away.
Made chicken and dumplings to celebrate. Two celebrations in one week: the publisher and the house. The dumplings floated in the broth like little hopes, and I ate them and thought: this is a good week. These are the weeks that make the hard ones worth surviving.
Now go on and feed somebody.
I said chicken and dumplings that night, and I meant it — but on the day I sat down to write this up, I kept coming back to the rosemary-lemon chicken I’ve been grilling all spring, because it tastes exactly like this week felt: clean and bright and like something good is just around the corner. When Denise is hollering in my kitchen and Kayla is twelve minutes away and a small press in Charleston wants to read my words, you want a recipe that rises to meet the moment without fussing over itself. This one does exactly that.
Rosemary-Lemon Grilled Chicken
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 2 lbs total)
- 3 tablespoons olive oil
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 tablespoons fresh rosemary, finely chopped (or 2 teaspoons dried)
- 1 lemon, zested and juiced (about 3 tablespoons juice)
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- Lemon slices and fresh rosemary sprigs, for serving
Instructions
- Make the marinade. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, garlic, rosemary, lemon zest, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes if using.
- Marinate the chicken. Place the chicken thighs in a zip-top bag or shallow dish. Pour the marinade over the chicken, turning to coat well. Seal and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or up to 8 hours for deeper flavor.
- Preheat the grill. Heat a gas or charcoal grill to medium-high (about 400°F). Oil the grates lightly to prevent sticking.
- Grill skin-side down first. Remove the chicken from the marinade and shake off any excess. Place skin-side down on the hot grill. Cook for 6–8 minutes without moving, until the skin is golden and releases cleanly from the grates.
- Flip and finish. Turn the chicken and move to a slightly cooler part of the grill. Cover and cook an additional 15–18 minutes, until the internal temperature reads 165°F at the thickest part.
- Rest before serving. Transfer the chicken to a plate, tent loosely with foil, and let rest 5 minutes. Serve with fresh lemon slices and a sprig of rosemary on the side.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 21g | Carbs: 2g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 480mg