Skillet Chicken with Olives

I listed 9 new properties this week — each one a different story, a different kitchen, a different family waiting to happen. The spring market is alive with the particular energy of people who have decided this is the year they change their address and their life.

Sunday dinner at Mama's was the usual controlled chaos. Mama made pastitsio and it was, as always, extraordinary. The table held fourteen people. The arguments held more opinions than the chairs held bodies. This is how Greek families communicate: loudly, with food, over each other.

The bakery smelled like honey this morning when I stopped by. That smell — warm honey and butter and the faint yeast of dough rising — is the smell of my childhood and my mother and my father and every Sunday morning of my life. Some smells are time machines. The bakery is mine.

I made a massive horiatiki tonight — tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion, Kalamata olives, a slab of feta. No lettuce. Never lettuce. I served it with bread and olive oil — always too much olive oil, because in this family there is no such thing as too much. We ate and the conversation was easy and the evening was warm.

Sophia told me this week that she is proud of me. I was not expecting it. We were in the car, driving to Tarpon Springs for Sunday dinner, and she said Mom, I am proud of you. I said for what. She said for everything. For the bakery. For the houses. For making dinner every night even when you are tired. I gripped the steering wheel and blinked and said thank you, koritsi mou. She said do not cry. I did not cry. Much.

The horiatiki I made that night started with the olives — the Kalamata ones I always buy too many of, because in this house we treat olives the way we treat olive oil: there is no such thing as too much. Sophia’s words were still sitting with me when I cleaned up the kitchen, that quiet I am proud of you that I was not ready for. The next evening I wanted something that felt the same way the salad did — generous, Mediterranean, honest — and this skillet chicken with olives was exactly that: a weeknight meal that tastes like it took all Sunday.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 2 lbs)
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1/2 cup pitted Kalamata olives
1/2 cup pitted green olives
1/2 cup dry white wine
1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon capers, drained
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Crusty bread or rice, for serving

Instructions

Season the chicken. Pat chicken thighs dry with paper towels. Season all over with salt, pepper, and dried oregano.
Sear skin-side down. Heat olive oil in a large heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken thighs skin-side down and cook without moving them for 7–8 minutes, until the skin is deep golden and releases easily from the pan.
Flip and brown the other side. Turn chicken over and cook for another 4 minutes. Transfer to a plate and set aside. Pour off all but about 1 tablespoon of fat from the skillet.
Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Add sliced garlic to the skillet and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute until fragrant and just beginning to turn golden. Add the white wine and scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Let the wine reduce by half, about 2 minutes.
Add olives and broth. Pour in the chicken broth, then add the Kalamata olives, green olives, and capers. Stir to combine.
Finish in the skillet. Nestle the chicken thighs back into the skillet skin-side up. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover partially, and cook for 12–15 minutes until chicken is cooked through and registers 165°F at the thickest part.
Brighten and serve. Squeeze lemon juice over the top and scatter with fresh parsley. Serve directly from the skillet with crusty bread or over rice to soak up the pan sauce.

Nutrition (per serving)

Skillet Chicken with Olives — The Table That Holds Everything