I Finally Learned to Love Chicken Breasts, Thanks to My Slow Cooker (2024)

Table for One is a column by Senior Editor Eric Kim, who loves cooking for himself—and only himself—and seeks to celebrate the beauty of solitude in its many forms.

Cooking for one, for me, doesn't always mean a single-serving recipe. Yes, it's deeply satisfying to cook exactly one portion of risotto for myself and to eat it in bed, straight out of the pan. But that's not the full picture, that's not real life.

As much as I love eating a perfectly cooked steak or one mugful of gooey peanut butter and jelly cake, real life means giving myself room, and permission, to sometimes cook once and eat for days. But on one condition: That big batch of whatever I've cooked must be transformed each time I eat it. There's nothing I hate more than eating the same thing for days on end, which is why I often think of my cooking less in recipes and more in strategy.

Take, for instance, a whole roast chicken. If I roast a chicken one night, then I can have some of it for dinner along with a nice side salad. The leftover meat will make for delicious lunches throughout the week, and the carcass, if I remember to save it, can become the most wonderful, fortifying Instant Pot chicken soup in the world.

I derive so much satisfaction from this kind of cooking. It feels in many ways like I'm cheating the system by cooking once, yet reaping all of the rewards over and over again after that initial work in the kitchen. It also happens to take the pressure off when, at the end of the day, all I'm really trying to do is feed myself.

But I don't apologize for any of this because, again, this is real life—and sometimes, real life is hard. And there are times when cooking, too, can feel hard.

That said, I find that it's when I take a break from cooking that the itch to get back into the kitchen is strongest. It's almost a self-fulfilling prophecy this way: I never let cooking become a chore, or else I'll grow to hate it. And I never want to grow to hate cooking because it's the one thing that gives me so much pleasure so much of the time.

On days when I need something a little more hands-off, and with less clean-up, I turn to boneless, skinless chicken breasts.

Full disclosure: I used to despise breast meat because of its dry, stringy texture, its terrible flavorless monotony, its unforgiving tendency to go from raw to overcooked in the blink of an eye. But when I started working in food, I learned what a demand there was for it (Google "chicken breast" and you'll get back more than 200 million search results).

When I was last in Atlanta, I went to the store in search of bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs (my favorite cut of meat to cook and eat). But I couldn't find any. No dark meat at all, actually—none, whatsoever. Mind you, this was one of the largest grocery chains in the heart of the metropolis. There were, however, about six to seven different brands of packaged chicken breasts, ranging from budget family packs to the organic, grass-fed stuff. It was a blinding wall of white meat.

Who the hell is eating all of this? I thought to myself. (Everyone, apparently.)

In an effort to get over my disdain for it, I decided to make it my own personal mission to come up with an easy, forgiving way to cook chicken breasts so they're as juicy as thigh meat. For this I turned, as ever, to my trusty slow cooker, Hal (a name I gave him on the general principle that people named "Hal" are good, sturdy stock, reliable and well-dressed).

I've found that if I poach my chicken breasts low and slow in some milk with lemon and sage—à la Jamie Oliver's Chicken in Milk—then the meat will come out unutterably tender and moist. Even better if I add garlic here, or maybe swap out the sage for thyme or rosemary. What I love most about these slow-cooker chicken breasts is that they're really just a blueprint, never hard or fast in their rules of what flavors can join them in the hot tub.

Ever since testing this method over and over to get the cooking time just right (one hour on the first side, then 30 minutes on the second side, or until the internal temperature reaches 165°F), this is now my favorite way to prep boneless, skinless chicken breasts for meals throughout the week. Thanks to my slow cooker, I end up with the softest, silkiest texture (which, again, sounds oxymoronic because breast meat tends to go dry and stringy most of the time).

But I'm convinced that the low heat here, along with the full tablespoon of salt (which almost quick-brines it, making it so juicy that water will come out when you squeeze it), contributes to a flawlessly cooked chicken breast.

I mean, just look at it:

You could eat one of these breasts for dinner as is with a little olive oil and lemon, or with your favorite condiment (I like spicy chile crisp or English mustard). After yoga during the week, I like to come home to a clean protein-and-veg dinner, which is where these slow-cooker chicken breasts come in, plus my latest obsession: broccolini. Its bitterness tastes so good to me against the sweet, herb-scented chicken.

Maybe you'll shred the rest of the chicken to add to your favorite soups, salads, or enchiladas. Or chop it up for the ultimate curry chicken salad.

My curried chicken salad is much spicier than most, thanks to a heaping tablespoon of curry powder and a pinch of cayenne pepper (but adjust according to the spiciness of your curry powder). Lots of crunchy celery goes in (because I love celery), along with halved red grapes for sweetness. For acid, feel free to use some juice from that lemon you just zested for the slow cooker.

To serve, I love to make sandwiches to take to work (or to the park), or I'll pack it in single-serving plastic containers to eat throughout the week in Little Gem lettuce cups, aka sucrine, or just simply on a plate with diced avocado. Whichever way you slice it, chicken makes for a pretty darn good solo lunch.