Caribbean Citrus Habanero Chicken Skewers

February. The month I hate. The month I endure. The month that this year holds two things: the vaccine and Bayamón. I will get vaccinated. I will go to Puerto Rico. Not in that order — Bayamón first, because the annual trip cannot wait and my heart cannot wait and the island is calling the way the island always calls in February, the month when Hartford is grayest and coldest and most unbearable and the body that was built for tropical heat rebels against the Connecticut winter with a longing so physical it has a taste: salt air, culantro, rain on concrete, home.

But this year the trip is different. The pandemic has changed the calculus — travel requires a negative test, a mask on the plane, the anxiety of enclosed spaces with recirculated air. I get the test on Monday. Negative. I pack on Tuesday. Wednesday I am on a plane to San Juan, sitting in a window seat with an N95 and a container of tostones because I do not trust airplane food and I do not travel without my own food and these are non-negotiable principles that predate the pandemic and will outlast it.

Marisol is at the airport. She is sixty-eight and grayer than last year and thinner than I remember, but her hug — masked, careful, a pandemic hug that is all arms and no face — is warm and strong and smells like her kitchen, which smells like Mami's kitchen, which smells like the island. She drives me to Bayamón. The windows are down. The air is warm. The coquí frogs are singing. I am home. The word home is a room that holds two addresses, and both addresses are valid, and the heart has a door for each.

I buy culantro at the market. I stand in the sun. I eat from roadside kiosks — alcapurrias from a stand in Hato Tejas that has been there since I was twelve, the same stand, different vendor, same recipe, the continuity a miracle and a statement: we are here. We are still here. The hurricane came and went. The pandemic came and continues. And the alcapurria stand is still here, frying in the same oil, serving the same food, and the serving is the resistance and the resistance is the survival and the survival is Puerto Rico. Wepa.

Standing at that alcapurria stand in Hato Tejas, tasting something so alive and fiery and bright it felt like a declaration, I knew exactly what I was going to cook the first night back in Hartford — something with heat and citrus and that unmistakable Caribbean boldness that refuses to be quiet. These Caribbean Citrus Habanero Chicken Skewers are not alcapurrias, but they carry the same spirit: the burn of a pepper that means business, the lift of citrus that tastes like sun, the kind of food that reminds your body where it actually belongs. Marisol would approve.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 35 min (plus 1–4 hrs marinating) | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
1/4 cup fresh orange juice
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons olive oil
1–2 habanero peppers, seeded and finely minced (use gloves)
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons fresh culantro (or cilantro), finely chopped
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1 teaspoon brown sugar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
Wooden or metal skewers (if wooden, soak 30 min in water)

Instructions

Make the marinade. In a bowl, whisk together orange juice, lime juice, olive oil, minced habanero, garlic, culantro, cumin, smoked paprika, allspice, brown sugar, salt, and black pepper until combined.
Marinate the chicken. Add the chicken pieces to the marinade and toss to coat thoroughly. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour, preferably 4 hours. The citrus and heat need time to work into the meat.
Prepare the grill. Heat an outdoor grill or grill pan over medium-high heat. Lightly oil the grates.
Thread the skewers. Remove chicken from the marinade (discard remaining marinade) and thread pieces snugly onto skewers, leaving a little space between pieces for even cooking.
Grill. Cook skewers for 5–7 minutes per side, turning once, until the chicken is cooked through and has a good char on the edges. Internal temperature should reach 165°F.
Rest and serve. Let skewers rest 3–4 minutes before serving. Finish with a squeeze of fresh lime and extra chopped culantro if desired. Serve with rice, tostones, or a simple green salad.

Nutrition (per serving)

Caribbean Citrus Habanero Chicken Skewers — The Flavor of Coming Home to the Island