White Chicken Chili

Two weeks until my birthday. I am aware of this the way you're aware of a dentist appointment — it's on the calendar, it's coming, and no amount of ignoring it will make it not happen. March third. Twenty-two. The first year of my life where the number won't have a matching number in Jess's life. She was twenty-one forever. I will be twenty-two, and then twenty-three, and then every age after that, and she will always be twenty-one in a gas station bathroom in Evergreen Park, and the distance between us will only grow. Dr. Perkins says I don't have to do anything special. She says I can let it be a Tuesday. It is, in fact, a Friday this year, but I understand the point.

Dad called on Saturday, which is unusual — Dad is not a phone caller. Dad is a phone answerer. He picks up when you call him and says four sentences and hands the phone to Mom. But he called me, just me, and said, "Your mother is at the grocery store so I have the house to myself and I wanted to say I'm proud of you." I said, "For what?" He said, "For going back." Then he told me about a pipe he fixed in Burbank that morning and I listened to every word because when Steve Kowalczyk calls you unprompted to talk about feelings, you do not interrupt. You let the man speak. He talked about the pipe for twelve minutes. I loved every second.

I've been thinking about next year — about student teaching, about actually being in a classroom with kids, about what kind of teacher I want to be. The answer is: the kind who notices. The kind who sees the kid in the back who isn't acting out, who isn't failing, who is just quietly drowning, and pulls up a chair and says, "Tell me what's going on." Nobody pulled up a chair for Jess. A lot of people loved her, but nobody sat down next to the drowning and said, "I see you." I can't fix that. But I can do it for someone else's kid. That has to be enough.

I made a pot of white chicken chili on Sunday. Canned white beans, leftover rotisserie chicken, a can of green chiles, garlic, onion, cumin, a splash of chicken broth, a tablespoon of cream cheese stirred in at the end to make it creamy without buying actual cream. Six servings for about four dollars. I dropped a container off at the RA's desk because she's been sick all week and the thing I learned from Babcia Rose — the thing she never said out loud but demonstrated every single Sunday — is that food is how you say "I'm thinking about you" when you don't have the words. I don't always have the words. I always have beans and chicken broth. It's enough.

Here’s the thing about that pot of chili — it’s not fancy, and it doesn’t need to be. It’s the kind of recipe Babcia Rose would have approved of: cheap, warm, enough to feed yourself and still have a container left over for someone who needs it. I’ve made this version a dozen times since September, tweaking the spices, figuring out that the cream cheese at the end is what makes it feel like something that costs more than four dollars. If you’re feeding yourself on a budget and you want something that feels like care in a bowl, this is the one.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 (15 oz) cans cannellini beans (white kidney beans), drained and rinsed
2 cups shredded rotisserie chicken
1 (4 oz) can diced green chiles
2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon cream cheese
Juice of 1/2 lime (optional)

Instructions

Cook the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook 30 seconds until fragrant.
Build the chili base. Add the drained white beans, shredded chicken, green chiles, chicken broth, cumin, chili powder, oregano, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine and bring to a boil.
Simmer. Reduce heat to medium-low and let the chili simmer for 15–20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the flavors meld and the broth reduces slightly. For a thicker chili, use a fork or potato masher to gently smash a few of the beans against the side of the pot.
Finish with cream cheese. Remove the pot from heat. Add the cream cheese and stir until it melts completely into the chili, giving it a creamy, rich texture without heavy cream. Add lime juice if using.
Serve. Ladle into bowls. Top with whatever you’ve got — a handful of crushed tortilla chips, a little shredded cheese, a dollop of sour cream, or nothing at all. It’s good as is.

Nutrition (per serving)

White Chicken Chili — The Kind of Dinner That Says What You Can’t