Sesame Chicken — The Weeknight Version of Grief and Getting On With It

Mid-May. I have been walking — long walks through the neighborhood with Miya in the stroller, reclaiming the outside in small increments. The trees are green. The rhododendrons are absurd with color — fuchsia, lavender, white, the Portland spring that happens whether anyone is watching or not. Miya points at every flower and says its color, which she is learning with the certainty of a scientist cataloging specimens. "Pink!" she announces. "Purple!" She is right about all of them. The world is exactly as pink and purple as she says it is.

I made Japanese potato salad — the creamy, sweet, slightly vinegared version that Fumiko made for potlucks and picnics and any occasion that required bringing something to share. Japanese potato salad is not American potato salad — it is smoother, more delicate, with thin slices of cucumber and carrot and ham folded in, and a dressing that is mayonnaise-based but lighter, with a whisper of rice vinegar and a pinch of sugar. It is the potato salad you make when you want comfort but also refinement, when you want the familiar made slightly foreign, when you want to be surprised by something you thought you already knew. I have been surprised by potato salad. The pandemic has lowered the bar for surprise.

I called Ken on Mother's Day weekend — the holiday I observe in Fumiko's direction, toward the absence of her, because Mother's Day without the grandmother who was more mother than grandmother is a holiday stripped of its honoree. Ken said the garden was coming in. Ken said the daikon was planted. Ken said nothing about Mother's Day, because Nakamuras don't acknowledge the holiday that acknowledges the feeling they cannot express, which is the most Nakamura sentence I have ever constructed. I did not say: I miss your mother. He did not say: I miss my mother. We talked about daikon. The daikon said it for us.

Barbara called from Ashland, characteristically effusive. "Happy Mother's Day, sweetheart! You're such a wonderful mother! Miya is so lucky!" The exclamation points are audible when Barbara speaks — her voice naturally italicizes and bolds, a one-woman formatting tool. I thanked her. I meant it. Barbara's praise is a warm blanket thrown over your shoulders without asking, and sometimes the blanket is too heavy and sometimes the blanket is exactly what you need. Today it was exactly what I needed. Today I needed a mother to tell me I am doing well. Even if doing well looks like making potato salad in a pandemic while my marriage dissolves. Even doing well looks like that, some weeks.

The potato salad was for Fumiko—specific, ceremonial, a dish I made with intention and grief in equal measure. But the week kept going, as weeks do, and Miya kept needing dinner, and I kept needing something with the same Japanese pantry logic—soy sauce, sesame, the quiet authority of ginger—without requiring me to be ceremonial about it. Sesame chicken is what I make when I want to stay inside that flavor world but put one foot in front of the other. It came together in thirty minutes while Miya sorted her crayons on the kitchen floor and named the colors with the confidence of someone who has never been wrong about pink.

Sesame Chicken

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1-inch pieces
• 1/4 cup soy sauce
• 3 tablespoons honey
• 2 tablespoons rice vinegar
• 1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
• 2 teaspoons cornstarch
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon fresh ginger, finely grated
• 2 tablespoons neutral oil (vegetable or avocado)
• 2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
• 3 green onions, thinly sliced
• Cooked white rice, for serving

Instructions

1. Mix the sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together soy sauce, honey, rice vinegar, sesame oil, cornstarch, garlic, and ginger until the cornstarch is fully dissolved. Set aside.
2. Sear the chicken. Heat neutral oil in a large skillet or wok over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add chicken in a single layer—work in batches if needed to avoid crowding. Cook undisturbed for 3 to 4 minutes until golden on the bottom, then flip and cook another 2 to 3 minutes.
3. Add the sauce. Pour the sauce over the chicken and stir to coat. Cook, stirring frequently, for 2 to 3 minutes until the sauce thickens into a glossy glaze that clings to each piece.
4. Finish and serve. Remove from heat. Scatter sesame seeds and green onions over the top. Serve immediately over steamed white rice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 345 | Protein: 33g | Fat: 15g | Carbs: 19g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 790mg