Sunflower Chicken Salad — What I Made for Myself the Week Babcia Was in the Hospital

Babcia fell. Mom called me at 6 AM on Tuesday. "Jake, Babcia fell in the kitchen. She's at the hospital." I was at Aurora St. Luke's in twenty minutes, still in the clothes I'd slept in, hair wild, heart in my throat. She'd gotten up early to make breakfast — boiled eggs and toast, her usual — and her hip gave out. She went down on the kitchen floor and couldn't get up. She lay there for an hour and a half before she could reach the phone on the counter. She called Mom. Mom called 911. Mom called me. Broken hip. The doctor said it clearly, matter-of-factly, the way doctors do: fractured femoral neck, will require surgery. Babcia was in a bed looking smaller than I'd ever seen her, white hair against a white pillow, monitors beeping, her face set in that stubborn expression that means she's furious at her own body for betraying her. "I fell," she said when I walked in. "In my own kitchen. Like an old woman." You ARE an old woman, Babcia. "I am not old. I am experienced." Even in a hospital bed, she made me laugh. Surgery was Thursday. Pin and plate. The surgeon said it went well, that she'll need physical therapy, that recovery at eighty-eight is slow but possible. Mom stayed at the hospital every night. Dad came during the day. I came after work, every day, bringing food because hospital food is an insult to everything Babcia stands for. I brought her rosół on Wednesday — my version, the from-scratch one. She ate the whole bowl. "Needs more dill," she said. Always more dill. But she ate it, and that was what mattered. Sunday dinner was canceled for the first time in my memory. Not postponed. Not moved. Canceled. The streak — sixty years of Sunday dinners — was broken. It's a small thing, logistically. It's an enormous thing symbolically. I went to Babcia's empty house on Sunday evening. The kitchen still had the egg pot on the stove, the toast plate on the counter, the chair where she fell. I cleaned everything up, did the dishes, swept the floor. Then I stood in the kitchen alone and it was silent. No humming. No sounds at all. Just the clock on the wall and the absence of everything that makes this room alive. I'm scared.

The rosół was for Babcia — the four-hour, from-scratch version, the one she taught me. But I had to eat too, and by the time I got home from the hospital each night, I had nothing left. This Sunflower Chicken Salad became the thing I made for myself: fast enough to pull together after 9 PM, bright enough to feel like something other than grief food. Sunflowers line Babcia’s garden fence every August, which I didn’t expect to think about while making a salad, but I did, and it helped.

Sunflower Chicken Salad

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

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts
• 5 oz mixed greens or chopped romaine
• 1/2 cup roasted sunflower seeds
• 1/2 cup dried cranberries
• 3 stalks celery, thinly sliced
• 1/4 red onion, very thinly sliced
• 1/2 cup shredded carrots
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
• Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

1. Cook the chicken. Season chicken breasts with salt and pepper. Heat a drizzle of olive oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Cook 6–7 minutes per side until internal temperature reaches 165°F. Let rest 5 minutes, then slice or shred.
2. Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, apple cider vinegar, honey, and Dijon mustard. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
3. Build the salad. In a large bowl, combine the greens, celery, red onion, shredded carrots, and dried cranberries. Lay the chicken over the top.
4. Finish and serve. Scatter the sunflower seeds over everything, drizzle with the dressing, and toss gently to coat. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 385 | Protein: 37g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 310mg