Vietnamese Lemongrass Chicken

We're talking about it. Not fighting — Jason and I don't fight, we discuss, we process, we speak in the measured tones of two people whose professional training includes de-escalation and the understanding that yelling doesn't save patients or relationships. We talk about Fairbanks. He talks about career trajectory, about the opportunity, about the fire captain role being a once-in-a-career step. I talk about roots, about recovery, about the infrastructure of sanity that I've built in Anchorage over three years of therapy and medication and cooking and community.

Neither of us is wrong. Both of us are right. The rightness is the problem. If one of us were clearly wrong, the decision would be easy — follow the right person. But we're both right, in our own languages, in our own ways, and the two rights don't fit together the way vinegar and soy fit together, because vinegar and soy are complementary and our two rights are parallel lines that will eventually diverge.

Dr. Reeves says I should consider what I'd lose. I say I'd lose everything. She says, "Everything is a big word." She's right. Not everything. I'd keep Jason. I'd keep the cooking. I'd keep the blog. I'd keep the medication. But I'd lose the ER at Providence, the team I've worked with for nine years, the community, the proximity to Lourdes and Angela, the kitchen at Mountain View where Saturday cooking happens, the market where Mr. Nguyen stocks Datu Puti. These losses are not abstract. They are the material of my recovery. They are the floor I rebuilt on.

I made adobo. The default. The recipe that doesn't require decisions because every decision has already been made — the vinegar, the soy, the garlic, the chicken. The recipe is certain. The recipe doesn't ask me to choose between a man and a city. The recipe is both — the man's food and the city's recipe, the love and the place, the same bowl.

I ate the adobo at midnight, standing at the counter, which I thought I'd stopped doing but apparently revert to during emotional stress, the way a patient reverts to old symptoms under pressure. Standing. Eating alone. The regression is temporary. I know this. The standing is familiar, not a failure. The adobo is certain. The relationship is not. The standing is what I do when the sitting requires a stillness I don't have.

I said the adobo is the default — the recipe that has already made its decisions — and that’s true, but what I didn’t say is that the night after, I made this. Vietnamese lemongrass chicken. Different aromatics, same logic: garlic, acid, heat, something bright cutting through the heavy. If the adobo is certainty, this is what certainty tastes like when you need it to taste like forward motion instead of staying still. I keep coming back to recipes that smell like someone knew what they were doing, because right now I need to borrow that knowledge.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 lbs bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (about 4–5 pieces)
3 stalks fresh lemongrass, tough outer layers removed, tender core minced (about 3 tablespoons)
5 cloves garlic, minced
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 red Thai chili, thinly sliced (or 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes)
2 tablespoons fish sauce
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon neutral oil (avocado or vegetable)
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
Fresh cilantro and sliced scallions, for serving
Cooked jasmine rice, for serving

Instructions

Make the marinade. In a bowl, whisk together the minced lemongrass, garlic, fish sauce, soy sauce, brown sugar, sesame oil, and turmeric until the sugar dissolves.
Marinate the chicken. Pat the chicken thighs dry with paper towels and add them to the marinade. Toss to coat thoroughly. Let sit at room temperature for 15 minutes, or cover and refrigerate for up to 4 hours.
Sear the chicken. Heat the neutral oil in a large heavy skillet or cast-iron pan over medium-high heat. Remove chicken from marinade, reserving the marinade. Place chicken skin-side down and sear without moving for 6–8 minutes, until the skin is deep golden and releases easily from the pan.
Flip and finish cooking. Flip the chicken and reduce heat to medium. Add the shallots and chili to the pan around the chicken. Cook another 12–15 minutes, until the internal temperature reaches 165°F and the juices run clear.
Deglaze with reserved marinade. Pour the reserved marinade into the pan and cook for 2 minutes, scraping up any browned bits. The sauce will reduce and cling to the chicken. Taste and adjust with a small splash of fish sauce if needed.
Rest and serve. Transfer chicken to a plate and let rest 5 minutes. Spoon the pan sauce and shallots over the top. Garnish with fresh cilantro and scallions. Serve over jasmine rice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Vietnamese Lemongrass Chicken — The Recipe That Doesn’t Ask You to Choose