Cilantro & Lime Chicken with Scoops — A Calamansi Kiss in an Anchorage Winter

January. Deep cold. Negative twenty. Jason and I are learning the physics of cohabitation in an Alaskan winter: who controls the thermostat (me — I run cold, the Santos blood was not designed for negative twenty), who takes the car to work when both cars won't start (him — he has a truck with a block heater, I have a sedan with prayers), and who cooks on whose schedule (me, always me, because Jason's cooking repertoire has expanded to exactly three Filipino dishes and a rotating selection of grilled cheese sandwiches that he executes with firefighter precision).

Mark called from San Diego with news: he met someone. A woman named Carmen, at a Navy function. He called me specifically — not Lourdes, not Angela — because Mark processes things through his eldest sister first, the way he did when he was ten and had a crush on a girl in his class and called me from his room to ask what to do. I said the same thing I said then: "Be yourself. Don't be weird." Mark, who is constitutionally incapable of being weird because the military trained it out of him, said, "I'm never weird." This is debatable but not the point.

Carmen is Filipina-American. Grew up in National City, near the naval base in San Diego. Mark met her at a function and talked to her for two hours, which for Mark is unprecedented — Mark communicates in seven-word sentences and two-minute phone calls. Two hours of conversation means something. I know it. He knows it. He's not ready to say what it means, but the calling-his-sister-before-his-mother is the signal. Something is beginning.

I made chicken inasal to celebrate — or to acknowledge, or to process, or to cook because something happened and cooking is how I process things that happen. The lemongrass marinade. The calamansi. The annatto oil. The grill marks. The recipe from Lourdes's Iloilo, the Visayan dish that is technically our ancestral food, made in an Anchorage kitchen while snow falls outside and a brother in San Diego tells his sister about a girl he talked to for two hours.

I didn't tell Lourdes yet. Mark asked me not to — he wants to see where it goes before Lourdes's full investigative apparatus is deployed, an apparatus that includes background checks via church networks, dietary assessments based on eating patterns, and the question that Lourdes asks about every potential partner: "Does she eat Filipino food?" Carmen is Filipina-American. She eats Filipino food. She's already passed Lourdes's primary screening and doesn't know it yet.

Chicken inasal is the version I made that night — the full Iloilo production with annatto oil and calamansi and real grill marks — but this is the weeknight translation I reach for when the feeling arrives and I need citrus and char without the marinade clock. Lime does the work that calamansi does. Cilantro stands in for the lemongrass. It’s not the same dish, but it carries the same intention: something bright and a little smoky, made because something happened and you needed to cook it out of your system.

Cilantro & Lime Chicken with Scoops

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts
• 1/4 cup fresh lime juice (about 3 limes)
• 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
• 1/2 cup fresh cilantro, finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon chili powder
• 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 bag (10 oz) tortilla scoop chips
• 1/2 cup sour cream, for serving
• 1/2 cup pico de gallo or fresh salsa, for serving
• 1/2 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese, for serving

Instructions

1. Marinate the chicken. In a bowl, whisk together lime juice, 1 tablespoon olive oil, garlic, cumin, chili powder, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Add chicken breasts, turn to coat, and let marinate at room temperature for 10 minutes (or refrigerate up to 2 hours).
2. Cook the chicken. Heat remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Remove chicken from marinade and cook 6–7 minutes per side until cooked through and internal temperature reads 165°F. Pour any remaining marinade over the chicken during the last 2 minutes of cooking.
3. Rest and shred. Transfer chicken to a cutting board and let rest 5 minutes. Shred using two forks, or dice into small pieces sized to fit the scoops.
4. Toss with cilantro and lime. Return shredded chicken to the skillet over low heat. Add fresh cilantro and a squeeze of additional lime juice. Toss to combine and warm through, about 1 minute. Taste and adjust salt.
5. Assemble the scoops. Arrange tortilla scoop chips on a serving platter. Spoon a heaping teaspoon of cilantro-lime chicken into each scoop. Top each with a small dollop of sour cream, a spoonful of pico de gallo, and a pinch of shredded cheese.
6. Serve immediately. These are best eaten right away while the chips are still crisp. Set out extra toppings on the side so guests can customize.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 210 | Protein: 19g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 310mg