Kitchen Therapy (No Copay!)
Eat, Pray, Marinade Chicken.
I’m not married. I’m not divorced. I’m just...marinading. Emotionally speaking, I’m this chicken. Just… sitting there. Soaking. Waiting to become something else.
I had a cup of a bumper crop of Genovese basil aggressively thriving in the garden, so I did what any woman emotionally suspended in marital purgatory would do: I blended it with garlic salt, black pepper, a glug of olive oil, and a splash of red wine vinegar like I was possessed by the ghost of someone’s Nonna.
No measuring. No plan. Just vibes and the passive-aggressive hum of the immersion blender.
I didn’t mean to have an insane amount of basil this summer. It just happened. I watered it. I gave it sun. I did the bare minimum and it thrived. Meanwhile, I’m over here barely remembering to eat a real lunch while trying to answer emails with a three-year-old asking for a third yogurt.
But here’s what no one tells you: in the weird in-between… not really married, not yet divorced, not sure what to put on the emergency contact form.. but there’s still magic.
Not the rom-com kind. Not the big life event kind.
The “I made something good out of what I had” kind.
Basil.
Chicken.
A little heat.
A countertop stained with olive oil rings and resilience.
If you’re in the emotional marinade stage… soaking in it, stewing in it, not quite ready to serve. I feel you.
I’m not saying I sobbed into the sauté pan, but I did stir with the intensity of someone who has explained the concept of "we’re not together anymore" one too many times to her neighbor, her coworkers, and the the random woman at dinner who just had to comment on us being out to dinner and me not wearing a ring. Read the room, lady.
These days, I’m clicky clacking on my keyboard while my toddler is on the floor, silently pushing a toy car into my shin on a loop like, “Hey girl, I know you’re in your soft reboot era, but I still require string cheese.”
Dinner turned out great, though. The chicken seared up in the pan just right, and for a few bites I didn’t feel stuck, just fed.
And boy did mama need to be fed literally anything but heartbreak.
Some days I feel fine. Like, “look at me keeping a toddler and a garden alive at the same time” fine. Other days I feel like a soggy bag of salad someone forgot in the back of the fridge.
But here’s the thing about marinades: they don’t rush. They soak. They wait. They take on flavor slowly, while nothing appears to be happening. And then BOOM something changes. The heat hits, and everything transforms.
Maybe you’re marinating too. In a breakup, or burnout, or a waiting for baby season. In not-knowing. In unasked-for reinvention. Maybe it feels like nothing’s happening, like you’re still raw, still not who you’re going to be.
But that’s the middle era you’re in. It’s not glamorous. It’s messy and slow and full of crusty dishes in the sink and mascara running down your face.
And yet, it’s where we get tender. Where we absorb what we need.
Where we learn our flavor.
Where we soften.
So if you’re in the thick of it, standing barefoot in a kitchen that smells like garlic and resignation, just know this:
You are not behind.
You are becoming.
And if all else fails, chicken thighs are usually on sale and basil is basically a weed with better flavor.
You’re doing fine. Marinating is still progress. Marinating is not a stall. It’s a sacred pause.
Basil Marinade-ish (I did not measure)
1 cup fresh basil
3 Tbsp red wine vinegar
1/4 up olive oil
a good bit of garlic salt
black pepper to taste
Pour over 1 lb of boneless skinless chicken thighs and marinade for 1 hour and up to 24 hours. Sear chicken thighs over medium high heat until cooked through (about 5-6 minutes per side). I spooned over a bit more marinade in the last minute of cooking.
Until next week…
Stay saucy.
Take naps.
And remember: emotionally marinating counts as dinner prep.
With basil-stained fingers and a hopeful heart,
Sara