Chicken and Dumpling Casserole

The week between Christmas and New Year's. David stayed through the 27th, which gave me three days to observe him in the habitat of the Johnson family, and what I observed was this: he is kind, he is patient, he laughs easily, he helps without being asked, and he looks at Charlie the way I look at Rosetta — as if she is the most important thing in any room she enters. These are all the qualifications I require. Everything else is details.

On the 26th, I took David to Whitehaven to meet Mama. This was not planned — or rather, it was planned by Rosetta, who suggested it with the casual authority of a woman who has already decided the future and is simply arranging the logistics. Mama was having a good day. She looked at David and said, "You're not from around here." He said, "No, ma'am. San Francisco." She said, "Can you cook?" He said, "I make very good dumplings." She said, "Dumplings." She thought about this. Then she said, "Bring me some."

And that was Pearlie Mae's test: not ethnicity, not background, not family name. Just: Can you cook? And: Bring me some. Because in Mama's world, the world of the shotgun house and the Peabody Hotel and the cast iron skillet, a man is measured by what he feeds the people he loves, and David Chen, by offering to bring dumplings to an eighty-one-year-old woman in Whitehaven, had offered to feed her, and feeding is loving, and loving is belonging, and belonging is the only door that matters.

New Year's Eve was quiet. Rosetta and me, the midnight kiss. "Happy New Year, Earl." "Happy New Year, Rosetta." 2019. The penultimate year. One more year of mail, one more year of walking, one more year before the retirement that is now not a fear but a plan, and plans are different from fears because plans have dates and dates have endings and endings are just beginnings that haven't started yet.

David Chen offered to bring my mother dumplings, and in that moment he passed a test I couldn’t have designed better myself. So when the holiday week wound down and the refrigerator held the last of the Christmas chicken, I made this casserole — dumplings and all — partly to use what we had, and partly because some dishes just feel like the right way to close a good chapter. This one fed us quietly into 2019, and that was exactly what we needed.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6

Ingredients

3 cups cooked chicken, shredded or chopped
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup whole milk
1 can (10.5 oz) condensed cream of chicken soup
2 cups chicken broth
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 cup frozen peas (optional)

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Melt the butter in a 9x13-inch baking dish by placing it in the oven for a few minutes. Remove once melted and set aside — do not stir.
Make the batter. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Stir in the milk until a smooth, pourable batter forms. Pour the batter gently over the melted butter in the baking dish. Do not stir.
Add the chicken. Scatter the shredded chicken evenly over the batter. Add the frozen peas if using. Again, do not stir.
Make the broth layer. In a separate bowl or measuring cup, whisk together the condensed cream of chicken soup, chicken broth, garlic powder, onion powder, and black pepper until smooth. Pour this mixture slowly and evenly over the chicken. Do not stir — the layers will settle and cook into casserole as it bakes.
Bake. Place the dish uncovered in the oven and bake for 40–45 minutes, until the top is golden brown and the dumpling layer has risen and set. The edges should be bubbling and the center should not jiggle when gently shaken.
Rest and serve. Let the casserole rest for 5–10 minutes before scooping. Serve in deep bowls so each portion gets both the fluffy dumpling top and the savory chicken broth beneath.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken and Dumpling Casserole — The Dish That Passed Mama’s Test