Basil Lemon Chicken

I published the post. The one about Marvin. I had been drafting it for ten days, cutting and adding and rearranging, the way I tell my students to do with their essays — write it, then make it better, then make it honest, then make it true. The truth was the hardest part to get right, because the truth is complicated: Marvin has Alzheimer's, early stage, diagnosed in September. He is still largely himself. He is losing things slowly. I am watching and learning and cooking and keeping going. The truth is not tragedy — not yet — but it is not what we planned, and I needed to say so in writing or I was going to say so in some other way that was less useful.

I titled it "The Slow Tide." That is the image I keep returning to: the tide going out in increments, barely visible in any single moment, impossible to ignore over time. I wrote about making soup. I wrote about how I cook when I am afraid — which is, it turns out, constantly, just as I cook when I am happy or sad or bored, because the kitchen is the place where I process everything. I wrote about the September appointment and the word that came home with us. I wrote that I am sixty-one years old and my husband is sixty-eight and we did not have a plan for this, because no one makes that plan willingly, and now I am improvising, and the improvisation includes chicken soup and prayer and keeping the house very clean and calling Rebecca twice a week.

The comments on the post surprised me. I have readers — I know I have readers, people occasionally write to tell me a recipe worked or a memory resonated — but this time the response was different in scale and in kind. People wrote about their own spouses, their own parents, their own mornings of standing in the kitchen making soup because there was nothing else they could do. One woman wrote: "Thank you for saying what I couldn't find words for." I read that twice. My mother would have said: publish it. She was right. She usually was.

Marvin read the post. He read it slowly, which he does now — reading requires a bit more effort than it used to. He said, "It's very good." He said, "You always were the best writer I knew." I said, "You're biased." He said, "Completely. Still true." That was a good conversation. I am writing them down now, the good conversations. Just in case.

The soup I wrote about in “The Slow Tide” is a loose, improvised thing — I never measure when I’m frightened — but this Basil Lemon Chicken is the version I come back to when I want something that requires just enough attention to keep my hands busy and my mind from going to dark places. The lemon keeps it bright. Marvin has always liked lemon on everything. That detail matters to me right now more than I can explain.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 oz each)
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice (about 2 lemons)
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, thinly sliced, plus more for garnish
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Instructions

Season the chicken. Pat the chicken breasts dry with paper towels and season both sides evenly with salt, pepper, and dried oregano.
Sear the chicken. Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the chicken breasts and cook undisturbed for 6–7 minutes per side, until golden brown and cooked through (internal temperature 165°F). Transfer to a plate and tent loosely with foil.
Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Add the remaining tablespoon of olive oil and the minced garlic to the same skillet. Cook, stirring, for about 1 minute until fragrant but not browned.
Add lemon and broth. Pour in the lemon juice, lemon zest, and chicken broth. Stir to scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Simmer for 3–4 minutes until the sauce reduces slightly.
Finish with basil and butter. Stir in the butter until melted and the sauce turns glossy. Add the fresh basil and stir once to combine.
Serve. Return the chicken to the skillet, spoon the sauce generously over the top, and garnish with additional fresh basil. Serve immediately over rice, egg noodles, or with crusty bread to catch the sauce.

Nutrition (per serving)

Basil Lemon Chicken — The Soup I Make When I’m Afraid