Passport & Plate - Chicken Mozambique
Portugal | Friday, March 6, 2015 | 5 photos
Ingredients
2 chicken breasts, cut into cubes
2-4 tbsp. butter
2 cups brown rice (I like it for the nutty flavor, but white or spanish rice can be used as well)
1 can beer or 1 cup white wine
Franks Red Hot hot sauce, to desired heat level
4-6 cloves of garlic
1/2 onion, diced
1/2 red bell pepper, diced
salt, pepper
lemon, parsley to garnish
How to prepare this recipeAdd butter to the pan and melt it enough so the pan gets hot and chicken can brown. Cut the chicken breast into cubes and coat with salt and pepper. Add to pan. Meanwhile, dice onion and pepper and chop the garlic. Add it the chicken.
Once the onions have turned translucent and the chicken is browned and caramelized, add the rice, hot sauce, and beer or wine. (Note: this assumes you've cooked your rice right beforehand or, like me, are afraid of rice and have just heated up a frozen packet from Trader Joe's in the microwave).
Let it simmer until the rice has absorbed most of the liquid. Garnish with sliced lemon, any fresh green herbs you have around, or some green olives!
The story behind this recipeI've carried chicken mozambique, an obscure little Portuguese dish with me for years now, like an intangible item of luggage as I make my way from place to place. As I think of it now, it's become a touchstone. One that connects seemingly unrelated journeys and memories into a roadmap of the last five years of my life.
I first encountered this dish from my college roommate, Meghan. Tiny and loud, she was full of charm, life, and wit. Sometime during the spring of our Junior year, when the pressure of the semester put considerable stresses on our happy household of four, we started a Sunday night family dinner. Meghan made us traditional chicken mozambique, her favorite Portuguese comfort food. I remember sitting in our dull pink dining nook, noses running from the hot sauce, and wine flowing from our cups.
I encountered it again in a restaurant in Fall River, Massachusetts, when I visited Meghan one summer. I remember soaking in the broken pavement of the streets and the lost immigrant culture of a once booming industrial city now falling into the sea. And, strangely enough, I remember Portugal in November and eating fresh fish on a rainy night. Even though it wasn't there. And I remember sharing paella with friends in Barcelona and scraping the bottom of the pan. Even though it wasn't there.
I emailed Meghan's mom so that I could make it for her birthday. We had just moved to L.A. and the meal brought us warmth and family in a new, strange and lonely place. And then Meghan fell out of my life, as friends who were once family sometimes do. But her recipe stays with me, and I've passed it on to others. I've played with it, lightened it up, served it at a dinner party, and to a friend who now makes it on her own.
And that's the thing about food. You never quite know where you pick something up. Or how it got in your imaginary rolodex of recipes. But it reminds you of times and places and people, even when it wasn't on the table. It's a feeling, food like this.
