Tropical Chicken Salad

Mother's Day. I brought Mai chrysanthemums from the Vietnamese market and a container of thit kho that I'd made the night before. She inspected the flowers, pronounced them acceptable, inspected the thit kho, said the eggs were slightly overcooked, and then ate two servings. This is Mai's love language: critique followed by consumption. I have been fluent in it for forty-seven years.

Linh drove in from the Medical Center with a card and a jade bracelet that must have cost more than my truck payment. Mai put it on immediately and said, "Too expensive." Linh said, "You deserve it." Mai said, "I deserve peace and quiet." We laughed. She didn't mean it. Or she meant it and also wanted the bracelet. Both can be true with Mai.

The three of us sat at her kitchen table for two hours. Mai made tea. She talked about a dream she'd had about her mother, which she almost never does. She said her mother — my grandmother, who I never met — had been standing in a market in Saigon holding a basket of rambutans and smiling. Mai said she looked young, younger than Mai had ever actually seen her. I asked if the dream made her sad. She said, "No. It made me remember." There's a difference, she said, between sadness and remembering. I wrote that down in my head.

Linh and I exchanged a look over tea. We both know the Vietnam trip is becoming more urgent, though neither of us has used the word "urgent" and neither of us will. Mai is eighty-three. She is strong but she is eighty-three. The window for a sixteen-hour flight is not infinite. I told Linh later, on the phone after I'd left, that I was going to make it happen by next spring. She said, "I know you will."

I got home and smoked a whole chicken for dinner. Just for myself. A five-pound bird rubbed with salt, pepper, garlic powder, and paprika, set on the smoker at 275 for three hours over cherry wood. Cherry gives poultry a sweetness that oak and hickory can't match — it's gentler, fruitier, and it turns the skin a gorgeous mahogany color. I ate half the chicken standing at the counter with my hands, which is the correct way to eat smoked chicken when no one is watching. The other half went into the fridge for chicken salad later in the week.

Posted a blog entry about Mother's Day and the foods our mothers made that we'll spend our whole lives trying to replicate. The comments were full of people listing their mother's signature dish. Meatloaf. Lasagna. Tamales. Fried chicken. Pho. The specifics don't matter. What matters is that every single person remembered.

I mentioned the other half of that chicken going into the fridge for chicken salad, and I meant it — but I wanted something that matched the mood of the day, something with a little brightness and sweetness to balance out the weight of sitting with Mai and thinking about time. This tropical chicken salad is what I landed on. The fruit cuts through the richness of the smoked meat in a way that felt right, the same way my grandmother’s rambutans felt right in Mai’s dream — unexpected, sweet, and somehow exactly what was needed.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

3 cups cooked chicken, shredded or chopped (smoked chicken works beautifully here)
1 cup fresh pineapple, diced
1/2 cup mango, diced
1/3 cup red bell pepper, finely diced
1/4 cup red onion, finely diced
1/4 cup celery, thinly sliced
1/3 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons plain Greek yogurt
1 tablespoon lime juice, freshly squeezed
1 teaspoon lime zest
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
Salt and black pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons fresh cilantro, chopped (optional)
1/4 cup toasted coconut flakes (optional, for topping)

Instructions

Prep the chicken. If using leftover smoked chicken, pull the meat from the bone and chop or shred into bite-sized pieces. Set aside in a large mixing bowl.
Chop the fruit and vegetables. Dice the pineapple and mango into roughly 1/2-inch pieces. Finely dice the red bell pepper and red onion. Slice the celery thin. Add everything to the bowl with the chicken.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, Greek yogurt, lime juice, lime zest, garlic powder, and ground ginger until smooth and combined.
Combine. Pour the dressing over the chicken and fruit mixture. Toss gently until everything is evenly coated. Taste and season with salt and black pepper as needed.
Rest and serve. For best flavor, cover and refrigerate for at least 20 minutes before serving. Top with fresh cilantro and toasted coconut flakes if using. Serve over greens, in a sandwich, or straight from the bowl — no judgment.

Nutrition (per serving)

Tropical Chicken Salad — When the Smoker Stays On After Everyone Goes Home