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Sunday Chicken — The Batch-Cook That Brought Back My Rhythm

Five months. Every week I say I can't believe how much has changed and every week I mean it. Liam sits with support now, upright and looking at the world from a new angle with the expression of someone who has been granted a promotion. He's fascinated by textures—he runs his fingers across whatever is in front of him, the fabric of a shirt, the edge of a board book, my hair, with the focused concentration of a quality control inspector.

July has been hot in the sweating-through-your-shirt way, the kind of Boston summer that makes you understand why everyone who has the option leaves. We don't have the option most days but on Saturday we drove to Wollaston Beach in Quincy and Sean spread a blanket in the shade and we put Liam on the blanket and he discovered sand and immediately tried to eat it. He was not wrong. Sand is interesting. We redirected him to a board book, which has less flavor but similar texture.

I've been batch-cooking again with more intention as the return to work approaches. Sunday cooking that builds a week's worth of dinners—grain, protein, vegetable, sauce. This week: roasted eggplant and tomato, chicken thighs braised with garlic, farro with herbs. The efficiency is back. I used to do this before Liam and I stopped when he arrived because there wasn't bandwidth for it, and now I'm reclaiming the hours, the planning, the structure that cooking provides. It feels like putting on a familiar coat.

Three weeks until I go back to work. The coat still fits.

Sunday Chicken was the anchor of the whole batch this week—the protein I built everything else around. There’s something almost ceremonial about putting a pan of chicken in the oven on a Sunday afternoon while Liam naps, knowing it’s going to carry us through Thursday without thinking twice. It’s the recipe I kept coming back to when I needed something reliable and low-fuss but still felt like I’d actually cooked: real food, real flavor, real structure. Three weeks out from going back to work, reliable matters more than ever.

Sunday Chicken

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 50 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 6 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 3 lbs)
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 1 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1 teaspoon onion powder
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary
  • 1 teaspoon kosher salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
  • 4 cloves garlic, smashed
  • 1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
  • 1 lemon, halved

Instructions

  1. Preheat oven. Heat oven to 425°F. Pat chicken thighs dry with paper towels and place in a large oven-safe skillet or baking dish.
  2. Season. Drizzle chicken with olive oil. In a small bowl, combine garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, thyme, rosemary, salt, and pepper. Rub the spice mixture evenly over all sides of each piece.
  3. Add aromatics. Tuck smashed garlic cloves around the chicken. Pour chicken broth into the bottom of the pan. Squeeze one lemon half over the top and place the spent half in the pan alongside the chicken.
  4. Roast. Roast uncovered for 45–50 minutes, until the skin is deep golden brown and an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part reads 165°F. Baste with pan juices halfway through if desired.
  5. Rest and serve. Let chicken rest 5 minutes before serving. Spoon pan juices over the top. Serve alongside grains and roasted vegetables, or refrigerate for up to 4 days for use throughout the week.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 21g | Carbs: 2g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 390mg

Kate Donovan
About the cook who shared this
Kate Donovan
Week 121 of Kate’s 30-year story · Boston, Massachusetts
Kate is a thirty-five-year-old nurse practitioner in Boston and a widowed mother of two whose husband Sean died of brain cancer at thirty-three. She makes Irish soda bread and beef stew and shepherd's pie because the recipes are all she has left of a man who was supposed to grow old with her. She writes about cooking through grief and finding out you can still feed your children on the worst day of your life.

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