November. The month everything happens. The month Caleb arrives. The month Ryan comes home. The month that has been circled on my calendar since June with a red marker and a prayer.
The hospital bag is packed. (Contents: two nightgowns, toiletries, a going-home outfit for me, a going-home outfit for Caleb that's so small it makes me cry every time I look at it, a blanket — Mom's hand-knit blanket — and snacks because Jen said 'the hospital food is garbage and you'll be starving after delivery.')
The car seat is installed. (Ryan asked Torres's wife to FaceTime me through the installation because Marines apparently trust each other's wives to install car seats across time zones.)
The nursery is done. Yellow walls, secondhand crib, rocking chair, changing table with a stack of diapers so tall it looks like a modern art installation.
I am ready. I am so ready. I am also completely unprepared.
Jen has been coaching me through the final weeks with the authority of a woman who has done this before. Her advice: 'Sleep now. Sleep whenever you can. Because once the baby comes, sleep is a theoretical concept that other people talk about but you never actually experience.'
I'm sleeping poorly anyway — the belly, the kicks, the bathroom trips, the 2 AM anxiety that arrives uninvited and sets up camp in my brain. What if something goes wrong. What if Ryan's leave gets cancelled. What if I can't do this. What if I'm not enough.
Mom's voice, every night at 7 PM: 'You're enough, Rachel. You were born for this. You come from women who did this alone during wars. You are not alone.'
I made Mom's chicken and rice casserole tonight — the Pyrex time machine, the first thing I ever cooked in this kitchen, the recipe that smells like every home I've ever had. I ate it at the table and Caleb kicked and the apartment was quiet but not empty, because he's here. Inside me. Already here.
Two weeks until Mom. Two weeks until Ryan. Three weeks until the due date.
The bag is packed. The crib is ready. The casserole is warm.
Come home, Ryan. Come out, Caleb. We're ready.
(We're not ready. Nobody's ever ready. But the freezer is full and the bag is packed and that's as ready as it gets.)
This is the recipe I reach for when the apartment is quiet but not empty—when I need something warm on the stove and something that smells like every kitchen my mom ever cooked in. Chicken Amandine is simple the way important things are simple: butter, almonds, lemon, chicken done right. I made it that November night with Caleb kicking and Ryan’s return circled on the calendar, and it was exactly enough. If you’re feeding yourself through a waiting period—a deployment, a due date, any stretch of days that feels both too long and too short—this is the recipe I’d hand you.
Chicken Amandine
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 oz each), pounded to even thickness
- 1/2 cup sliced almonds
- 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
- 1 teaspoon lemon zest
- 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
- Lemon slices, for serving
Instructions
- Toast the almonds. In a large skillet over medium heat, add sliced almonds in a dry pan. Stir frequently for 3–4 minutes until golden and fragrant. Transfer to a small bowl and set aside.
- Dredge the chicken. In a shallow dish, whisk together flour, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Pat chicken breasts dry, then dredge each one in the flour mixture, shaking off any excess.
- Sear the chicken. In the same skillet over medium-high heat, melt 2 tablespoons butter with the olive oil. Once the butter foams, add the chicken breasts. Cook 5–6 minutes per side until golden brown and cooked through (internal temperature 165°F). Transfer to a plate and tent loosely with foil.
- Make the almond butter sauce. Reduce heat to medium-low. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon butter to the pan. Once melted, stir in lemon juice and lemon zest, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Cook for 1 minute until slightly thickened.
- Finish and serve. Return chicken to the pan and spoon the sauce over each breast. Top with toasted almonds and fresh parsley. Serve immediately with lemon slices alongside steamed rice or roasted vegetables.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 360 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 480mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 136 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.
