Strawberry Pecan Grilled Chicken Salad — What Comes Off the Grill When Summer Says Goodbye

Labor Day. The unofficial end of summer, the last gasp of the grilling season, though in Memphis we don't really have a grilling season because we grill and smoke year-round, on account of being Memphians and therefore constitutionally incapable of going more than two weeks without putting fire under meat. But Labor Day has a particular energy — it's the last big cookout, the last long weekend, the last time the whole neighborhood is outside before the slow retreat into fall.

I smoked a whole chicken and a rack of ribs — modest by my standards, but I didn't feel the need to prove anything to anyone on this particular Monday. Sometimes you cook to feed a crowd and sometimes you cook to feed a family and sometimes you cook to feed yourself, and today was the middle one. Walter Jr. was in Cordova with Tamika's family. Marcus was with Angela in Covington, meeting her parents for the first time — a trip I prayed about Saturday night, asking the Lord to help Marcus be the man Angela's father needed to see, which is the same man I raised, which is a good man, but fathers are suspicious of good men who date their daughters because fathers know what good men are capable of.

Charlie called from Nashville. She was alone, which is how Charlie spends most holidays, and I don't say that with judgment but with the particular ache of a father who wants his daughter to have people around her — not just any people, but her people, a table full of noise and food and someone who reaches for her hand when the fireworks start. Charlie says she's fine alone. Charlie says she likes her space. Charlie says she doesn't need what I need, and maybe she's right, but I hear something in her voice on holidays that sounds like the silence in a house that should have more sound in it.

The chicken came off the smoker at two o'clock — mahogany skin, juicy thighs, the breast meat still moist because I brined it overnight, which is the secret to smoked chicken breast, friend. Brine it. Salt water, sugar, garlic, peppercorns, bay leaves, twelve hours. The salt denatures the proteins and lets them hold moisture during the long smoke, which means the breast doesn't dry out the way it does when people just throw a chicken on the grill and hope for the best. Hope is not a cooking technique. Preparation is.

Rosetta and I ate in the backyard with Tyrone, who came over because Tyrone spends every holiday he can at our house, drawn by the smoker and the company and the fact that his own house is empty since the divorce. We didn't talk about anything important. We played dominoes. Tyrone cheated. I called him on it. He denied it. Rosetta confirmed it. He cheated again. This is how the Johnson brothers play dominoes: badly, loudly, and with accusations that are both frequent and accurate.

In the evening, after Tyrone left, I sat on the porch and watched the neighborhood settle into the holiday dusk. Kids on bikes, making the most of the last light. An old man across the street watering his lawn, the hose painting dark lines on the dry concrete. The smell of charcoal from three different yards, each one a different family's version of goodbye-to-summer. Orange Mound on Labor Day is a community breathing together, and I have been part of that breath for fifty-seven years, and the thought of breathing anywhere else is something I cannot imagine and refuse to consider.

The gentrification is here, though. It's been creeping for years, but this summer I noticed it more — the new coffee shop on Park Avenue, the renovated houses with their Edison bulb porches and their "modern farmhouse" aesthetics, the young white couples who jog through at 6 AM like they're training for something. I don't begrudge anyone a place to live. But Orange Mound is not just a place. It's a history. And history that gets bought and renovated and resold at three times the price is history that's being erased, slowly, dollar by dollar, until the only thing left is the geography and everything that made it sacred is gone.

The chicken and the ribs were the main event that Monday, but when Rosetta asked what we were putting on the side, I thought about something lighter — something that tasted like summer still had a little left to give before it stepped aside. This Strawberry Pecan Grilled Chicken Salad is what I keep coming back to at the end of a long smoke, when the grill’s already hot and you want something cool and bright to sit alongside the heavy cuts. Charlie would’ve loved it. I’ll make it when she visits.

Strawberry Pecan Grilled Chicken Salad with Pecan Butter Vinaigrette

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

Ingredients

• 2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 6 cups romaine lettuce, chopped
• 1 cup fresh strawberries, sliced
• 1/2 cup pecans, toasted and roughly chopped
• 1/4 cup red onion, thinly sliced
• 1/4 cup crumbled feta or goat cheese (optional)
• Pecan Butter Vinaigrette:
• 2 tablespoons pecan butter (or natural peanut butter as substitute)
• 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
• 2–3 tablespoons warm water, to thin
• Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

1. Marinate the chicken. Brush chicken breasts with olive oil and season on both sides with garlic powder, smoked paprika, salt, and black pepper. Let rest at room temperature for 10 minutes while the grill heats.
2. Grill the chicken. Heat grill or grill pan to medium-high. Cook chicken 6–7 minutes per side, until internal temperature reaches 165°F. Remove from heat and let rest 5 minutes before slicing.
3. Make the pecan butter vinaigrette. Whisk together pecan butter, apple cider vinegar, honey, olive oil, and Dijon mustard in a small bowl. Add warm water one tablespoon at a time until the dressing reaches a pourable consistency. Season with salt and pepper.
4. Toast the pecans. If not already toasted, add pecans to a dry skillet over medium heat and stir frequently for 3–4 minutes until fragrant. Remove from heat and let cool.
5. Assemble the salad. Arrange chopped romaine on a large serving platter or individual bowls. Top with sliced strawberries, toasted pecans, red onion, and cheese if using.
6. Slice and serve. Slice grilled chicken on the bias and lay over the salad. Drizzle generously with pecan butter vinaigrette and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 390 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 18g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 320mg