Mom’s Chicken Divan by Jennifer Simpson
The cold, blustery Saturday brought thoughts of hearty warm soups and oven-baked casseroles as I searched for the perfect recipe to use up three pounds of asparagus and welcome some friends to my new apartment.
Flipping through back issues of Cooking Light, I was tempted by Cream of Asparagus Soup, but couldn’t stop thinking about Mom’s Chicken Divan. I thought it was actually the Joy of Cooking’s Chicken Divan, but couldn’t find the recipe in the1954 edition I inherited when my mom died. I do have a newer version, a gift from a well-meaning friend who was aghast at the falling apart book, but still prefer my worn-out copy where ingredients like sundried tomatoes and shitake mushrooms don’t make even a cameo appearance. I love the yellowed, batter-stained pages filled with tips I will never use but which make me laugh — like how to cook game – and, more importantly, recipes that remind me of my mom.
My sister, Debby, who’s petite and bubbly, is the one who looks like Mom. I’m shorter, rounder, and I’m quiet — more like my dad, but I do have my mom’s eyes, her penchant for decorating and her kitchen skills. Cooking brings back good memories of home and family dinners, of arguments over whose turn it was to set the table, of admonishments for opening the lid on the rice one time too many, of time spent with my mom.
I scoured every other cookbook in my library from In a Persian Kitchen to International Recipes on Parade, a dossier of the 1966 Navy Wives Club, but still couldn’t find Mom’s Chicken Divan. I turned to the pink and yellow box filled with borrowed favorites like the green chile enchiladas Donna brought to an office potluck lunch eight years ago, and the giant foil-wrapped Laramie Loaf sandwich Midgie Brooks would bring to every picnic in Hawaii from 1972 to 1976.
I finally found the recipe tucked between Lemon Bars and Beef Stroganoff. After a quick inventory, I headed off to the grocery. All I needed was chicken and cream of mushroom soup. I repeated this mantra as I drove to the store. “Chicken, Cream of Mushroom, Chicken, Cream of Mushroom.” I needed to stay on task, and not wander off to the gourmet food section or the bakery. “Chicken, Cream of Mushroom.”
I was in and out of the store in under 15 minutes.
I’d invited my sister and a couple of friends to dinner. More than that would be a tight squeeze around the small rattan dining room set I inherited from my grandparents. I had dubbed my new dining room — a small area next to the kitchen — the Tiki Lounge, recovering the chairs with a Hawaiian print fabric, and placing a bamboo plant in the corner.
Setting up the kitchen had been more of a challenge. It was what’s referred to as a “two-step kitchen” — a testament to the way the refrigerator, stove and sink were so “conveniently” close to each other. Not to mention the “economical” use of countertop and cabinet space.
After only a month in my new place, I still wasn’t sure where everything was. I opened three doors before I found the Pyrex casserole dish that belonged to Grandma. I placed it on the counter and began to assemble mom’s Chicken Divan. Or, rather, my version of Chicken Divan, switching out broccoli for asparagus.
I rinsed the green stems and bent the tough ends until they snapped, leaving only tender tops to layer along the bottom of the dish. I then layered the chicken and prepared the sauce: one can cream of mushroom soup, one half cup mayonnaise and two teaspoons of curry. Convinced you can never have too much curry, I tossed in an extra dash.
My time spent with Cooking Light made me feel a bit guilty that the mayonnaise was not fat free, but I poured the sauce over the chicken anyway. I took some more liberties with the recipe, adding slivered almonds instead of the requisite breadcrumbs on top. I figured I’d already challenged tradition, so I might as well go all out. I set the oven to 350 and slid in the Pyrex.
As I waited for everyone to arrive, I prepared a fire and lit the candles on the mantle. Burning wood, citrus, sage, and cranberry scents mingled with the warm curry perfume emanating from the kitchen. My new apartment began to feel like home.
The eSSSence of Jennifer Simpson
Style: I may not dress as spiffy as my mom would have liked, I may wear jeans and flip flops more often than she would have liked, but no matter how hard I try I can’t help but color coordinate myself. She would be proud.
Substance: Losing a parent at any age is difficult, but for kids—as I know from experience—it’s especially hard. For that reason, I spend every other week volunteering at the Children’s Grief Center of New Mexico co-facilitating a support group for young adults. It’s a small commitment of time and the most rewarding volunteer work I’ve ever done.
Soul: I believe in creativity, and that by tapping into that force within us we are closer to God.
Thanks for this lovely essay — what a wonderful tribute to your mom — and for your generosity in giving back by using your own experiences to help children. I also love what you say about creativity; it’s so true. Great piece!
At some point while I was reading this, I realized I never got the recipe for what I referred as my mom’s Pink Stuff — I think the official name was cranberry salad. She brought it to every Thanksgiving I hosted. It was pink, made of cherry jello and cream cheese, and pecans and cranberries. It tasted pink, in the best possible way. It tasted great when you piled it and a piece of turkey on your fork.
My mom was not known for her cooking. But it is still a way that I reach back to try and connect with her. I was in my fifties when she died, so it’s a different saga for me.
But, you really captured the poignancy of connecting with a mom not through food, but through the making of it. Thanks. It clearly stirred memories for me. And . . . does anyone know why it’s called Chicken DIVAN?
Excellent essay! Thank you for the beautiful words. Heartfelt, interesting and well written.
This made me want Chicken Divan – and it’s not even cold out!
Beautiful piece, Jen. And I love the photos that went with them. Cozy as a hot casserole and good company. Thank you.
This essay really captures the “eSSSence”, or in my own words, the heart and soul of Jennifer Simpson. For a couple of precious minutes, I was pulled into your homey and love-filled world where I could almost smell the various aromas in your kitchen/Tiki lounge, and felt like one of your guests. Yours is the stuff that great books are made of, Word Diva.
Parker (aka Kim)
Loved this essay. It’s about a recipe for Chicken Divan, but it’s really about re-discovering the past and the savoring – once again – relationships that were part of it.
I have read other essays by Jennifer, and what always stands out for me is the vision she creates: I am there in that story. It always feels warm and wonderful. “Mom’s Chicken Divan” is warm and wonderful. And tasty, too, I’ll bet!! Thank you Jennifer Simpson
Great, Jennifer. Thanks.
Mary K
As always, a great essay, Jenn. My mother never served Chicken Divan, but this makes me want to cook it–unhealthy mayonnaise and all!
aw shucks, you guys… Thanks for the kind words, and most of all thanks for reading! I’m making Chicken Divan tonite. If you’re in Albuquerque stop on by!
Wow, goose pimples!! I haven’t lost my mother yet but no one day sooner than I want it to it will happen. Jennifer, I’m in awe of your grace and showing us ways to remain connected to our family. I can smell the Chicken Divan and the scent of cranberry, citrus and sage. I can feel the warmth of your home. Thanks for sharing!
What a great way of blending yesterday and today. Memory is never stuck in the past but forever moving forward and the way this is played out in the receipe is brilliant. Job well done.
What comfort food for thought–and I’ve never even had Chicken Divan. Reading about your mom’s recipe and your creative twists made me miss my own mom’s cooking. Thanks for that Jenn
I loved it, but wanted it to go on. It left me wanting more!!!
Thanks Jenn
This is wonderful. Thanks for sharing such a special story.
Thanks for this Jenn! A great piece. I just wanted it to keep on going (which is good since this is a piece of your memoir, right?) And man, if I read it two days ago, i would have taken you up on the chicken divan! Another day, another dish.
How delicious to read this essay, Jenn. Reminds me of its beginnings in our Wednesday writing group, and like a good recipe gets better with the personal, creative touch of the maker. Your essays always go deep and touch a tender place. Thank you for that, and thanks for sharing this beautiful piece.
If we’re lucky, we’ve all got memories of those special meals our moms cooked — but how many of us have paid tribute to our mothers by bringing the memory forward into our own kitchens? Jenn Simpson, thanks for your beautiful job of reminding us that we are not our mothers (we might be asparagus in the place of broccoli, or slivered almonds rather than bread crumbs), but we carry them with us as treasured parts of ourselves. Beautiful essay.
So funny…just two nights ago, I was thinking about MY mom’s Chicken Divan and wondering whether I could make it sans broccoli. I have no recipe to follow, so I’ll be making your mom’s instead.
This piece is tender and loving, and thought it is about your mom, I love that it’s about your grandma and your sister, too. Beautifully done!
Thank you for inviting us to your table, Jenn. Lovely piece.
Jenn, thanks for sharing your essay and sweet memory; for a snapshot of your heart. I too would like to read more of your work.
Your exquisitely detailed sharing evoked memories of my mother’s cooking, and I realize that I have not prepared a single dish she made. The days of Hellman’s mayonnaise, Campbell’s mushroom soup (poured over white noodles and tuna fish), Pepperidge Farm white bread, and brisket, tongue, and beef’s liver are simply not my ingredients of choice. Yet your following your mom’s recipe gave me an idea on how I, too, could reconnect with happy days of my childhood, before my dad died and when my mom (seemingly) cheerfully prepared foods, too, that I do still eat, among them scrambled eggs, tomato and cucumber salads, and baked or broiled fish. I already feel better, closer to one I once loved more than anyone in the world. Thanks, Jenn.
What a great essay! I think everyone has those memories of mom and family centered around the dining room table, and you did a fabulous job of capturing the essence of those nostalgic thoughts.