I have finally figured out how to poach chicken

+ curried chicken salad salad with sautéed dates

In my intermittent but ongoing efforts to become yolked, I have been eating a not-insignificant quantity of chicken breast. I promise this is not as depressing as it sounds—at some point I want to write something about gaining muscle without eating nasty foods—but it does require some effort and attention. Chicken breast can be dry and punitive, and I generally try to avoid feeling punished by my food. (As I write this I am eating a mug of McConnell’s s’mores ice cream.) Velveting helps in a stir-fry; a cutlet will rarely steer you wrong. But if you want something of a blank canvas—for chicken salad, or melty sandwiches—you need to coax the chicken toward doneness, without sucking out its life.

Enter poaching, something I’ve finally really finessed thanks to Sohla El-Waylly’s Start Here. Her recipe is called, tellingly, “I Promise It’s Good! Poached Chicken Breast”.

Sohla calls for bone-in, skin-on chicken breast, and dry-brines it, and poaches it ever so gently in chicken stock, for tender and flavorful meat. This produces—she’s right!—the best possible chicken breast, tender and flavorful and not at all dry. I’ve found that in a pinch, you can strip away some of these steps, and still get something tender and juicy.

I buy boneless skinless breasts from my CSA¹, which also means they poach quicker; sometimes I dry-brine, sometimes I don’t.² Instead of high-quality bone broth, I scoop a dollop of chicken bouillon into my poaching water. But the most important part of the whole equation, to my inexpert mind, is the way the water looks while it’s cooking your chicken.

The secret to successfully poaching chicken, I’ve learned, is that the water shouldn’t even be bubbling. The water can hint at a bubble; it can murmur; but you do not want a simmer, and you certainly don’t want a boil. Boiling water makes for tough chicken, which makes for sad diners. Even if you take your boneless skinless breast straight out of the package without dry brining, even if you just poach it in salty water, if you are vigilant about water temperature, you’ll still be impressed by the resulting texture.

While I’m sure it’s technically better to put the chicken in the water and let everything come up to temperature together, I’ve developed an even lazier method. I’ll set a pot of water (I use this) to boil, then come back in 5 or ten minutes once it’s roiling. I’ll add a tablespoon or so of bouillon, let it incorporate, and taste to see if it’s good and seasoned. Then I’ll turn the heat down to medium-low, wait for the bubbles to subside, and add my chicken. After about 18 minutes, it’s done—a thermometer stuck through the fattest part of the breast reads 160° or a little higher. Sometimes I’ll let the chicken cool in the liquid (a Sohla rec), sometimes I’ll pull it out greedily because I want a sandwich now. But I’m always struck by the tenderness of the meat, the absolute lack of sadness I experience while shredding and eating it.

I’ve started making a funny little chicken salad with it, modeled very loosely on the curried chicken salad you might find at a suburban deli. I mostly hate dried fruit in salads—I have craisin trauma, and I think dried apricots feel like ears in your mouth—but I will take any excuse to eat a date, and I recently remembered this recipe from chef Renée Erickson³, one of the most elegant little hors d’oeuvres you’ll ever find.