My husband and I grew up in a church that kept a loose form of kosher, the Jewish dietary guidelines that govern, among other things, what kinds of meat to eat. Pork products were strictly forbidden, as were all shellfish, smooth-skinned fish like sharks and catfish, and mammals other than split-hoofed ruminants. Reptiles, scavengers and birds of prey were right out, but barnyard poultry was definitely in. To sum up, when my husband and I were younger, we never ate an Easter ham, but we were well-versed in roast fowl.
Although we no longer abide by any dietary proscriptions other than attempting to practice occasional moderation, we still find comfort in old habits. That means when we eat meat, it’s usually chicken. It’s the familiar former clucker that I rely on when I want a nearly effortless dinner.
Here’s how it goes: I’ll thaw a package of chicken thighs or legs (for food safety fans, the recommended method is 12 to 24 hours in the fridge) without having any idea what I’m going to do with them. At about 5 or 5:30 p.m., when everyone’s tummy is starting to rumble, I’ll come into the kitchen and stare at the chicken, thinking, “What — you again?” as though it’s the chicken’s fault that it hasn’t cooked itself. In a hunger-induced panic, I try to figure out how to make the chicken tasty with the least possible expenditure of time and effort.
This is where the one-pan chicken dinner comes in handy. The recipe is basically this: Put everything in a pan with some chicken, then cook it. Boom! Dinner! The potential variations are staggering and entirely customizable to whatever is on hand in your pantry, fridge or garden. My standard is a 2-quart Corningware ovenproof dish layered with onions, salted chicken thighs, carrots, potatoes and sometimes celery, if I can slip it past my celery-hating husband. (“You think you can hide it from me, but you just can’t,” he said a few weeks ago, glumly pushing a piece of cooked celery around his plate.)