When the world feels as chaotic and unrelenting as it does right now, it feels impossible to care about something as mundane as dinner.
The idea of chopping onions when so many people’s lives hang in the balance? Absurd.
Isn’t there a “get out of dinner free” card we can play? Shouldn’t the world write us a parent’s note, excusing us from this daily chore?
And yet every night, without fail, the question of dinner still demands an answer. I still feel the grumbling in my belly as the clock ticks towards 6 PM, still hear my kids’ call out, with increasing urgency, “When’s dinner, mom?”
I find myself thinking it would be nice, if, in seasons of grief or overwhelm, our bodies simply took a break from all this needing. If we just, for a time, didn’t require food or sleep or movement or the sun on our faces.
But perhaps these daily reminders of our humanity are their own kind of gift, forcing us out of our brains and into our bodies. A steady reminder that we are still here. Not dead yet. Not defeated yet. Still human. Still breathing, still connected to the humanity and creation around us.
Still in need of nourishment, yes, but also still able to give nourishment.
Perhaps dinner is its own kind of resistance.
We chop shallot and mushrooms and toss them in a pot with olive oil. Listen to them sizzle, breathe in their scent. We slow down and wait for them to soften, to caramelize on the edges just a bit, to trade bite for gentleness.
We add broth and rice and inhale the steam like a humidifier for our souls, breaking up the gunk that’s gathered—the ticker tape of news, the rage, the despair.
We ladle into bowls, sit around the table and talk about our days. We laugh, because the lives of a Kindergartener and 3rd grader are endlessly entertaining.
The kids are done in minutes, have to be reminded to take their bowls to the sink. My husband and I stare at each other across the table, weary but well fed. This one need has been met.
And I find I am thankful for dinner. This ability to nourish, this gathering at the table, is still ours. It is still our sacred and ordinary and unrelenting work to feed ourselves, to feed our families, to feed our neighbors.
And we will keep doing it. We will keep inviting people to our table. We will keep making it bigger, letting it feel the weight of our collective joy and pain. We’ll keep showing up with casseroles and boxed mac and cheese and big pots of soup and Chinese takeout and calling it blessed.
We will not let ourselves go hungry in a time when we need to be fed. We will snatch every bit of joy from a bite of creamy pasta and relish the feeling of a belly that is satisfied, content. We will do the work that is ours to do, and not despise our bodies for reminding us we are human.
We will keep showing up for ourselves and our communities, letting the work of dinner soften us and make us strong.
Creamy Mushroom Chicken and Rice
A comforting one pot meal that tastes like a hug
View the full recipe post with step by step photos here: Creamy Mushroom Chicken and Rice
Serves 4
Ingredients
1 ¼ – 1 ½ lbs. boneless skinless chicken thighs
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
1 teaspoon garlic powder
Kosher salt and pepper
2 Tablespoons olive oil
8 ounces sliced mushrooms
1 shallot, chopped (or sub 1/2 cup chopped yellow onion)
3 large cloves garlic, minced
3 cups lower sodium chicken broth
1 cup white rice
Juice of ½ a lemon
4 sprigs fresh thyme, stems revoed
½ cup cream (*see note 1) (or sub half and half)
Few sprigs parsley, optional
½ cup Parmesan cheese, for serving
Season the chicken on both sides with the Italian seasoning, garlic powder, and a generous sprinkling of salt and pepper.
Heat the oil in a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat. When the oil is shimmering, add the chicken. Brown until the chicken releases easily from the pan, 2-4 minutes, then turn and brown the other side. Remove the chicken to a plate.
Add the mushrooms and shallot to the pan and saute until golden, 3-4 minutes. Stir in the garlic, sprinkle everything with a little more salt, and saute an additional minute.
Pour a small amount of the chicken broth into the pan and use a wooden spoon or spatula to deglaze, scraping any browned bits off the bottom of the pan. Add the remaining broth, rice, lemon, and thyme, then add the chicken and all the reserved juices back to the pan. Bring to a simmer, then lower the heat, cover, and cook without stirring for 18-20 minutes or until rice is tender and liquid is mostly absorbed.
Slowly stir in cream. It will soak in as you add it. You can start with 1/4 cup and keep adding as it soaks in more. Sprinkle with parsley, if desired. Serve chicken and rice with a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese.
Note 1: Add up to another half cup of cream for an even creamier dish.
Note 2: Store leftover chicken and rice in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 5 days. Reheat leftovers in the microwave with an extra splash of milk or cream.
I have read this three times and tear up each time. This one hit a nerve. Thanks for putting into words some really complicated feelings.