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Strawberry Mint Chicken -- A Recipe for the Brief Window When Everything Overlaps

The rhubarb jam is done. This is its own paragraph because it deserves one. I made it on Saturday — the third year in a row since I started making it on my own, Helen's recipe, six jars, the same hex-lid jars. The smell of it cooking is Helen's kitchen in May. This is a fact I return to every June and it doesn't diminish. Some associations don't fade with repetition. They become the point.

The strawberries are fully in now, which meant this year I made a strawberry-rhubarb jam as a variation — both fruits overlapping in that brief June window when they're both available fresh. Tarter than straight strawberry, more balanced than plain rhubarb. I got eight jars, which is more than I'll use, which is exactly the right quantity for a jam you want to give away.

Two jars to Carol. Two to Ted Marchand over the fence. One to Bill from Maine — I mailed it, which he called about three days later to say he'd eaten it on toast every morning. He said: it tastes like Vermont. I said: most things I make taste like Vermont at this point. He laughed. He has a good laugh, Bill. I didn't know his laugh from the letters but I know it now from the phone calls.

The tomato seedlings went into the garden this week, finally out of the cold frames and into the actual ground. I put them in on a warm afternoon with the care I always bring to this particular task — working in bone meal, deep holes, the transplants buried up to their first true leaves so the stem can root along its length. Now the waiting begins. It won't feel like summer until the tomatoes are setting.

Making that strawberry-rhubarb jam this week left me with strawberries on the mind — and a flat of them still on the counter after the canning was done. I’d already given away most of the jam, but I wanted to cook with the berries in one more way before the window closed, something for dinner rather than the pantry shelf. This strawberry mint chicken is what came of that: same fruit, same June light, a completely different direction — and honestly a good use of the berries I’d have otherwise just eaten over the sink.

Strawberry Mint Chicken

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 oz each)
  • 1 1/2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
  • 3 tablespoons fresh mint leaves, chopped, plus more for garnish
  • 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
  • 1 tablespoon honey
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
  • 1 small shallot, finely minced

Instructions

  1. Make the strawberry-mint sauce. In a small saucepan over medium-low heat, combine the sliced strawberries, balsamic vinegar, honey, shallot, and red pepper flakes if using. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the strawberries soften and release their juices and the sauce thickens slightly, about 8–10 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the chopped mint. Set aside.
  2. Prepare the chicken. Pat chicken breasts dry with paper towels. Season both sides with salt and black pepper.
  3. Cook the chicken. Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the chicken breasts and cook undisturbed for 6–7 minutes until golden brown on the first side. Flip and cook another 5–7 minutes, until cooked through and an instant-read thermometer reads 165°F at the thickest part.
  4. Rest and serve. Transfer chicken to a cutting board and let rest 5 minutes. Spoon the warm strawberry-mint sauce generously over each breast. Garnish with additional fresh mint leaves and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 290 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 13g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 340mg

Walter Bergstrom
About the cook who shared this
Walter Bergstrom
Week 272 of Walter’s 30-year story · Burlington, Vermont
Walt is a seventy-three-year-old retired high school history teacher from Burlington, Vermont — a Vietnam veteran, a widower, and a grandfather of five who cooks New England comfort food in the same kitchen where his wife Margaret made bread every Saturday for forty years. He lost Margaret to a stroke in 2021, and now he bakes her bread himself, not because he's good at it but because the smell fills the house and for an hour she's still there.

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