Oven-Baked Parmesan Panko Crusted Chicken

Happiness matters, whenever it finds us.

“The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful.” ― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

For one single day last week, I felt good. No stress, not a whisper of anxiety, no sadness, no sense of dread, Just a quiet, serene happiness. To let you in on a secret, I rarely feel that way, and almost never for an entire day. Yes, the outside world affects my mood, and, yes, events in my chaotic life often trigger a downward drop, but the darkness I live with comes from inside — something I have carried, or rather experienced, since childhood. And I am never free from it.

So, when a day like that happens, when I wake up with that particular sense of lightness, I don’t notice it at first. I’ll already be moving through the day when the realization strikes me, suddenly: This is one of those days. This is what “happy” feels like.

And once I recognize it, I don’t want to touch it. I don’t want to examine it or name it or even think about it for fear it will vanish. It’s a strange kind of superstition, but I’m afraid that focusing on or questioning it (“Why today?” “What made this happen?”) might jinx it and break the spell. Because it feels like something magical, I choose instead to just live the day, embrace that near-otherworldly feeling and allow it to happen. Allow myself to feel good.

It’s fair to ask why I’m writing about my personal mental health and a single, unexpectedly happy day, here, for a political audience. Because there is an aspect to it that goes beyond me and whatever caused this glitch in my own inner landscape. It’s about the broader context of what many of us are living through — and how rare days like this have become for, I suspect, those who stay informed, who read the news, who follow along.

Moments of pure happiness are so ethereal; serenity is so fragile.

In today’s political and social climate, carrying the burden of responsibility mixed with fear and even grief has become instinctive. Normal. Almost a civic duty. The price of being informed and engaged, the price of caring. And then we start to feel as if happiness and calm — being absorbed in family or a good book, or our everyday work and life, spoiling ourselves with hobbies or sport — were a form of negligence, a kind of moral failure. We are a people riddled with guilt.

This day last week, I decided that I needed to allow myself serenity, a euphoric feeling of contentment for as long as it would last.

It’s not escapism to allow ourselves the permission to be happy. We should all allow it, I think, not as indulgence or a luxury but as a well-deserved necessity. When you find yourself in the middle of it, don’t let the pause of consideration draw you away from it. It’s human, it’s essential, and it’s fleeting. Even share it with others, if you can, no matter how ordinary or modest it seems. When it sneaks up on you — and it will — let it. And stay with it as long as you can.

Food is my job, my passion, my obsession — and what makes me the happiest. And cooking is certainly a way I — and many of us — extend that sense of satisfaction and well-being. Today, I’m sharing a chicken recipe that’s as easy as it is flavorful (crispy and juicy), and as satisfying as it is simple.

“Real generosity toward the future lies in giving all to the present.” - Albert Camus

Oven-Baked Parmesan Panko Crusted Chicken

Serves 6

Chicken pieces for 6 (3 breast filets and 3 leg/thigh pieces, or as desired), skin removed, chicken trimmed and cleaned

1 pound (500 grams) small fingerling potatoes, optional but good (see recipe)

Marinade:

1 ½ cup (375 ml) buttermilk

3 tablespoons prepared Dijon mustard

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice

2 garlic cloves, pressed

1 teaspoon smoked paprika

½ teaspoon ground chipotle chili powder or cayenne pepper

Salt and black pepper

Breading/Crust:

1 ½ cups (80 grams) panko crumbs

¾ cup (60 grams) freshly and finely grated Parmesan or Grana Padano cheese

6 tablespoons (60 grams) flour

Finely grated zest of 1 lemon

1 tablespoon minced fresh thyme or 1 tsp dried thyme

½ teaspoon dried mint, optional

1 teaspoon smoked paprika

½ teaspoon ground chipotle chili powder or cayenne pepper

½ teaspoon or more dried powdered garlic or onion or a mix

Salt and black pepper (be generous)

Prepare the marinade and marinate the chicken:

Whisk all of the marinade ingredients together in a bowl or baking dish just large enough to hold all of the chicken pieces comfortably in one layer. Push the chicken pieces into the marinade, cover the bowl or dish with plastic and refrigerate from a few hours to overnight.

Preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C) and lightly grease (with vegetable or olive oil) or spray a baking dish or rimmed baking tray large enough to hold all of the chicken pieces in one layer – you can also place them on a rack sitting on/in a baking tray.

I also tossed a pound or so of grenaille fingerling potatoes in olive oil, salt and pepper and add them to the baking tray.

Toss all the breading/crust ingredients in a wide, shallow bowl or pan.

Remove the marinated chicken from the refrigerator. Lift out one piece of chicken at a time and allow the excess marinade to run off; roll and press the chicken in the breading, coating all sides well, and place on the lightly oiled baking tray. Continue with all the chicken.

Bake the chicken (and potatoes, if using) in the preheated oven for about 45 minutes to 1 hour or until the chicken is cooked through — until the meat on the bone is no longer pink and the juices run clear. Once the chicken is cooked, if you like the breading more browned, just turn on the grill setting of your oven and, watching very carefully, allow to brown just for a few minutes.

Serve immediately with potatoes and a green vegetable or salad.

Jamie Schler is an American food and culture writer — immersed in French culinary history — living in France where she owns a hotel, makes jam, and writes the Substack Life’s a Feast.

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