Saucy Raspberry Chicken

Summer has settled in the way Nebraska summers settle — heavy, hot, the air thick enough to hold. The kids are in their routines now: Tyler at the truck stop with Dave two days a week, learning engines the way Dave learned them, the way Larry learned them, the way Novak men have always learned things — by watching, by holding the wrench, by getting grease under their fingernails and never fully getting it out. Amber reads. She reads constantly, fiercely, as if books are oxygen and she has been underwater. She does not tell me what she reads. I do not ask. The reading is hers.

Justin started mowing lawns for money. Three neighbors, twenty dollars each, which is either too much or too little depending on who is paying and who is pushing. Justin mows with the same aggressive efficiency he brings to everything — fast, hard, done. He does not do edges. He does not do detail. He does the job and moves on. I recognize this trait because it is mine, and recognizing your own flaws in your children is both validating and alarming.

Josie went to Vacation Bible School at the Lutheran church this week. She came home with a macaroni cross and a sunburn and the specific enthusiasm of a nine-year-old who has consumed too much Kool-Aid and not enough sunscreen. The macaroni cross is on the refrigerator now, next to Tyler's oversized name on Gayle's birthday card and Josie's school picture and the forty other things the refrigerator holds. The refrigerator is not a appliance. It is an archive.

I made BBQ chicken on the grill — Dave grilled, I sauced. Homemade BBQ sauce: ketchup, brown sugar, Worcestershire, vinegar, mustard, garlic powder. Brushed on during the last ten minutes so it caramelizes but does not burn, which is a timing game I have been playing for twenty years and have mostly mastered. Corn on the cob from the farm stand on Highway 2. Baked beans from a can because I am not above canned baked beans and neither should you be. Summer dinner. No pretense. All flavor.

That BBQ chicken was Dave’s department, and honestly, most grilling nights are. But on the evenings when I’m the one making it happen — when the grill feels like one more thing instead of a pleasure — this saucy raspberry chicken is what I reach for. It has that same sweet-tangy pull as a good BBQ sauce, it comes together on the stovetop in the time it takes Josie to wind down from Kool-Aid and crafts, and nobody at this table has ever pushed it away.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 oz each)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup raspberry preserves
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
Fresh raspberries and chopped parsley for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Season the chicken. Pat chicken breasts dry with paper towels and season both sides with salt and pepper.
Sear the chicken. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken and cook 5–6 minutes per side until golden brown and cooked through (internal temperature 165°F). Transfer to a plate and tent loosely with foil.
Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. In the same skillet, add onion and cook 3–4 minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook 30 seconds more until fragrant.
Add the raspberry base. Stir in raspberry preserves, red wine vinegar, soy sauce, Dijon mustard, and red pepper flakes if using. Stir to combine and bring to a gentle simmer, scraping up any browned bits from the pan.
Finish and glaze. Return chicken to the skillet and spoon sauce over the top. Simmer 2–3 minutes until sauce thickens slightly and chicken is glazed and heated through.
Serve. Plate the chicken and spoon extra sauce over each piece. Garnish with fresh raspberries and parsley if desired. Serve with rice, roasted vegetables, or crusty bread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Saucy Raspberry Chicken — A Summer Dinner That Asks Nothing of You