Instant Pot Cuban Chicken

March. The month that is supposed to be the beginning of something — spring, warmth, the slow defrosting of a city that has been frozen since November — and instead March 2020 is becoming something else entirely. The coronavirus is here. Not in Hartford yet, not confirmed, but the trajectory is clear to anyone watching, and I am watching, and Eduardo is watching, and the hospital is watching, and the country is watching, and the watching has a quality to it that I recognize from Hurricane María — the watching that precedes the storm, the helpless clarity of seeing what is coming and knowing you cannot stop it.

The hospital shifted this week. Not dramatically — there are no patients with COVID yet in our system — but the protocols are changing, the conversations are shifting, the energy in the hallways has a new frequency. My team received new guidelines: enhanced sanitation, reduced contact points in the cafeteria, contingency plans for reduced staffing. I read the contingency plans and thought: I have fed this hospital through snowstorms, through power outages, through the week after 9/11 when nobody knew anything except that the patients needed to eat. I will feed this hospital through this.

Mami cannot come to dinner anymore. This is the first concrete change, the first thing COVID takes from me before it has even arrived. The guidelines say elderly people, especially those with compromised health, should limit contact. Mami is eighty-two. Her immune system is not what it was. Her memory is not what it was. She is the person the guidelines were written about, and the guidelines say: keep her safe, which means keep her alone, which means the woman who comes to my table every night will not come to my table, and the table will have an empty chair where the supervision used to be.

I brought food to her apartment on Thursday — habichuelas guisadas, arroz blanco, a piece of flan — and left it on the floor outside her door and knocked and stood back six feet and waited. She opened the door and looked at the containers and looked at me and said, Why are you standing over there? I said, Mami, there is a virus. She said, There is always a virus. Come inside. I said, I can't. She said, Carmen. The way she said my name — not confused, not foggy, fully present and fully hurt — broke something in me. I said, Mami, I will bring food every day. She said, I don't want food. I want my daughter. I drove home and sat in the driveway for twenty minutes before I could go inside.

The food I brought Mami that Thursday — the habichuelas, the arroz, the flan — was meant to say everything I could not say standing six feet away from her door. When I got home that night and finally went inside, I stood in the kitchen for a long time before I could sit down, and eventually I opened the Instant Pot because cooking is the only language I have ever fully trusted. This Cuban chicken is what I made: bright with citrus and garlic, warm with cumin, the kind of dish that fills a small apartment with something that smells like someone is home — which felt important, on a night when I was very aware of how many people were suddenly, quietly, alone.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 1/2 lbs bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 6 pieces)
1/2 cup fresh orange juice (about 2 oranges)
1/4 cup fresh lime juice (about 3 limes)
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/4 tsp smoked paprika
1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
2 tbsp olive oil
1/3 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1 bay leaf
Fresh cilantro and lime wedges, for serving

Instructions

Make the mojo marinade. In a small bowl, whisk together the orange juice, lime juice, garlic, cumin, oregano, salt, pepper, and smoked paprika. Pat the chicken thighs dry and season lightly on both sides with salt and pepper.
Sear the chicken. Set the Instant Pot to “Sauté” on high and add the olive oil. Once shimmering, add the chicken thighs skin-side down and sear without moving for 4–5 minutes, until the skin is golden and releases easily. Flip and sear the other side for 2 minutes. Transfer to a plate.
Sauté the onion. Add the sliced onion to the pot and cook, stirring, for 2–3 minutes until softened and beginning to pick up the browned bits from the bottom. Press “Cancel” to turn off the sauté function.
Deglaze and build the braise. Pour in the chicken broth and use a wooden spoon to scrape up any remaining browned bits — this prevents the burn notice and adds deep flavor. Pour in the mojo marinade and nestle the bay leaf among the onions.
Pressure cook. Return the seared chicken thighs to the pot, skin-side up, resting on top of the onions. Secure the lid and set the valve to “Sealing.” Cook on Manual High Pressure for 15 minutes. Allow a natural pressure release for 5 minutes, then carefully switch the valve to “Venting” to release any remaining pressure.
Optional — crisp the skin. For crispier skin, transfer the cooked chicken to a foil-lined baking sheet and broil on high for 3–4 minutes, watching closely, until the skin blisters and crisps. This step is optional but deeply worth it.
Finish and serve. Discard the bay leaf. Taste the braising liquid and adjust salt as needed — it makes a beautiful spooning sauce. Serve the chicken over arroz blanco with the onion and citrus braising juices spooned over the top. Garnish with fresh cilantro and lime wedges.

Nutrition (per serving)

Instant Pot Cuban Chicken — The Food I Left at Her Door