Slow-Cooked Greek Chicken Dinner — The Lemon-Oregano Sunday

Aunt Linda drove down from Tulsa Sunday with Roy. First time we’d met him. The Camry pulled into the driveway at noon — an hour earlier than I’d expected because Linda was nervous and had left at ten-thirty — and Roy got out of the passenger side and stood in the driveway for a second straightening his shirt before he walked up to the porch. He was tall, fifty-something, salt-and-pepper hair cut short, the kind of soft-spoken voice that Mama trusts on instinct. He brought a bottle of wine and a small tin of homemade peanut brittle his ex-mother-in-law had taught him to make in 1987, which he handed to Mama at the door with both hands and a slight forward bow that you don’t see much in Oklahoma men. He shook Mama’s hand with both of his, looked her in the eye, said his full name — “Roy Pemberton, ma’am, glad to finally meet you” — and stepped back to let Linda lead him in.

The twin fourteen-year-old boys were at his ex-wife’s for the weekend, which was the only reason this lunch had been able to happen. Linda hadn’t been this nervous about anything since her job interview at the insurance company ten years ago, which she told me on the phone Friday night while I was making pie crust. She kept asking what to wear. I told her something she felt good in. She wore the green sweater I’d helped her pick out at the Walmart in Tulsa over Labor Day weekend.

I made a slow-cooked Greek lemon-oregano chicken in the heavy Dutch oven Sunday morning so I could be in the kitchen during the introduction part of the day, which is where I’m always most comfortable when I don’t know how to be in a room with new people. The recipe is simple, which is the whole point: a whole chicken — four-something pounds, IGA on sale for ninety-nine cents a pound — patted dry with paper towels, salted heavily on the outside and inside the cavity, the cavity stuffed with one whole lemon halved, a head of garlic split in half across the equator, and a generous handful of fresh oregano from the porch pot. The juice of two lemons and the zest of all four go into the bottom of the Dutch oven with a half-cup of olive oil, a half-cup of chicken broth, more garlic and oregano, and salt and pepper. The bird sits breast-up on top of all that.

Three hours at three-hundred-fifty in the Dutch oven with the lid on, then the lid comes off for the last forty-five minutes so the skin browns properly — covered the whole way through, and the skin is sad and pale and not worth eating; lid off too soon and the meat dries out before the skin gets there. Forty-five minutes of uncovered time at the end is the sweet spot. The lemon-and-broth liquid at the bottom reduces during that uncovered window into a glossy pan jus that’s half the meal. You spoon it over the carved chicken, you mop it up with the bread.

Roy and Mama got along the way Mama gets along with quiet steady men — almost instantly, on a foundation of mutual non-bullshit. He didn’t fill silences. He didn’t over-explain himself. He answered Mama’s questions directly without padding. About halfway through the meal he set his fork down and said to her, very quietly, “I understand you’ve been carrying a lot of weight for a long time, Bonnie. I’m not looking to add to it.” Mama nodded once. He didn’t expand. He just picked his fork back up.

By dessert — I’d made a quick lemon icebox pie to match the chicken, the kind that sets in the freezer for an hour before serving and tastes like a citrus slap — Mama was relaxed enough to laugh at a story Linda was telling about the time Roy’s twins had tried to start the riding mower with the gas cap off and made a small fireball in the front yard that took out a hostas bed. Mama really laughed. Not the polite laugh she does. The chest laugh. After Linda and Roy left, after the dishes were done and Mama and I were sitting on the back porch in the cold November air with sweaters on, Mama said, “Linda picked a good one. Don’t tell her I said that until at least Christmas.” I told her I’d hold the line until Christmas Eve. She said that’d be fine.

Lid on for the first three hours, lid off for the last forty-five — that’s the whole skin trick. Here’s the bird.

Slow-Cooked Greek Chicken Dinner

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 4 hrs | Total Time: 4 hrs 15 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 6 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 3 lbs)
• 1 1/2 cups long-grain white rice, uncooked
• 1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
• 1 can (14 oz) chicken broth
• 1 medium onion, sliced into rings
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/2 cup pitted Kalamata olives, halved
• 1 lemon, sliced into rounds
• 2 tsp dried oregano
• 1 tsp dried thyme
• 1/2 tsp smoked paprika
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/4 tsp black pepper
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• Fresh parsley, chopped, for serving

Instructions

1. Season the chicken. Pat chicken thighs dry with paper towels. Rub all over with olive oil, oregano, thyme, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper.
2. Layer the base. Spread uncooked rice evenly across the bottom of a 6-quart slow cooker. Pour in the chicken broth and diced tomatoes with their juices, then scatter the sliced onion and minced garlic over the top.
3. Add the chicken. Nestle the seasoned chicken thighs on top of the rice mixture, skin side up. Tuck lemon slices and Kalamata olives around and between the pieces.
4. Slow cook. Cover and cook on LOW for 4 to 5 hours, or until the chicken is cooked through and the rice has absorbed the liquid. Avoid lifting the lid during cooking to preserve moisture.
5. Check for doneness. Chicken should register 165°F internally and rice should be tender. If rice seems underdone, recover and cook an additional 20 to 30 minutes on LOW.
6. Serve. Spoon rice onto plates and top each serving with a chicken thigh. Garnish with fresh parsley and a squeeze of the softened lemon slices if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 38g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 610mg