Turkey Cutlets in Lemon Wine Sauce

The cold deep, the windows weeping condensation. Two trauma cases stayed with me through the weekend. I cooked through them.

Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one.

I made sinigang Sunday. The sour was the right register for the body this week. The tamarind was sharp.

The blog has four hundred subscribers now who get the posts via email. The subscribers are the loyal core. The loyal core is the chorus.

I called Lourdes Sunday night. The call was the call. The call was always the call.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

I checked email at the kitchen table while the rice cooked. There were one hundred and twenty unread messages. I closed the laptop. The unread can wait.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

I made sinigang because the sour was what the body asked for — that particular sharp register that cuts through the fog of a hard week. When I don’t have tamarind on hand, or when the week calls for something a little quieter, I reach for this instead: turkey cutlets in a lemon wine sauce, bright and quick and honest. The lemon does the same work the tamarind does. The sourness is still the medicine.

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

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs turkey breast cutlets, pounded to 1/4-inch thickness
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
3 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice (about 2 lemons)
1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1 teaspoon lemon zest
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Instructions

Season and dredge. Pat turkey cutlets dry with paper towels. Season both sides with salt and pepper. Dredge lightly in flour, shaking off the excess.
Sear the cutlets. Heat olive oil and 1 tablespoon of the butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. When the fat shimmers, add the cutlets in a single layer. Cook 2–3 minutes per side until golden and just cooked through. Transfer to a plate and tent loosely with foil.
Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Add garlic to the same skillet and cook 30 seconds, stirring, until fragrant. Pour in the white wine and scrape up any browned bits from the bottom. Let reduce by half, about 2 minutes.
Add lemon and broth. Stir in the lemon juice, lemon zest, and chicken broth. Simmer 3–4 minutes until slightly reduced and the sauce coats a spoon.
Finish with butter. Remove skillet from heat and swirl in the remaining tablespoon of butter until the sauce is glossy and smooth.
Return and serve. Nestle the cutlets back into the skillet for 1 minute to warm through and absorb the sauce. Plate, spoon sauce generously over the top, and finish with fresh parsley. Serve with steamed rice or crusty bread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Turkey Cutlets in Lemon Wine Sauce — The Sour Was the Right Register