my mom’s chicken marsala
Chicken Marsala really is a lot like Chicken Piccata, so much so that making one prompts me to start thinking about making the other. But despite their shared origins (Italian secondi dishes made with veal; Marsala is specifically from Sicily, where Marsala wine is produced) and subsequent rise to similar status as Italian-American classics, these two are different in a number of ways, most of which I forget about until I make them both within the span of a week.
The template is more or less the same: the base is flour-dredged chicken that’s browned in butter, deglazed with wine (white or Marsala, respectively), loaded with minced garlic and simmered with broth until a glossy sauce forms, then showered in parsley and served over some kind of noodle. But where Piccata is light, delicaate, and zesty, Marsala is heady, shroomy, and earthy, the moodier and darker fraternal twin in the pair.
some of us just do not look cute on camera ok?
But depending on where you look, even the basic prep template for these varies. I grew up on the ones made by my mom, but Olive Garden got America used to both dishes with cream, and today many places serve them both with a sort of heavy, gravy-textured sludge I found VERY strange and unfamiliar the first time I ordered either in a restaurant. That’s because my mom’s recipe was an adaptation of my grandmother’s more traditional-ish, pan-saucy veal version, which kept things aggressively simple and comparatively light: just floured chicken, mushrooms, garlic, Marsala wine, broth, and parsley. I’ve also noticed most recipes use dry Marsala wine, but my family has always opted for the sweet variety, which is what I do here. Big ‘bela shrooms also make a difference, as they have a much more intense mushroom flavor, and I don’t recommend switching them out for crimini or button.
Because I’ve only ever seen my mom make this in hours-long blitzes, trying to plow through large batches in order to make enough for a Christmas dinner party, chicken Marsala was something I had conditioned myself to believe is best reserved for special occasions where I’m ready to throw down with a major effort and time commitment. But like many things I grew up believing, this too was inaccurate, which I can say having just pulled it off start to finish in about an hour on an uninspiring Thursday. And if I can, you can.
Recipe
My grandmother’s and mother’s traditional chicken piccata recipe, made with sweet marsala wine, meaty portobello mushrooms, and tender chicken cutlets simmered in a garlicky sauce (and no cream, because this is not an Olive Garden).
Effortful time: 30 minutes
Total time: 1 hour
Serves: 4
YOu neEd
1 lb boneless skinless chicken breast cutlets (you can also use thin cutlets, and skip step 1)
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1 tsp salt, divided
1 lb portobello mushrooms caps, cut in half lengthwise and then sliced about 1/2” thick
6 tbsp butter
6 large cloves garlic, minced
3/4 cup sweet marsala wine
3/4 cup chicken stock
A few tbsp. of fresh chopped flat-leaf parsley
12 oz. egg noodles, pappardelle or the wavy kind both work
Cracked black pepper and additional salt to taste
make it
Get prepped. Before you start, slice your mushroom caps lengthwise and then again into slabs about 1/2” thick. Prepare your minced garlic and set aside; you won’t cook this until you assemble all the ingredients at step 7. I use a garlic press for mine; whatever tool you choose, you want it so fine that it almost melts into the dish.
Create cutlets if you need to. I like to buy thin-sliced chicken breasts, but if yours are big boys, don’t sweat it. Slice your chicken down the side of each breast lengthwise to create 2-3 thin chicken cutlets out of each breast. They don’t need to remain totally whole — it almost is like shaving slices. To make this easier, I put it in the freezer for 20 minutes first. Most meat departments at grocery stores will also do this for you if you ask.
Cook the mushrooms. In a large, heavy high-sided skillet (12” minimum), heat 4 tbsp of the butter over medium heat. Add mushrooms and cook until they’re half their size and well browned, about 6 minutes. Remove to a bowl. I sometimes pile them on the underside of my pan lid that I leave standing next to the stove.
Dredge and cut the chicken. Give the chicken a good salting. Pour flour into a dish or plastic bag and dredge the chicken, coating on both sides. Take your first floured, salted cutlet and, using kitchen shears, roughly cut the chicken into irregular but similarly sized pieces. You can cut them right back into whatever vessel you used to flour them. I do this while the mushrooms cook.
Cook the chicken. With the heat still on medium, add the remaining butter to the pan and swirl til melted. Add the chicken pieces to the pan in a single layer and cook until lightly browned on both sides, about 2 minutes per side. You might have to work in batches. Remove the cooked chicken to a plate or, if you’re me, that same pot lid you already have the mushrooms on.
Quick break! At this point, you can also boil salty water for pasta if you’d like.
Build your sauce. When all the chicken is cooked, turn the heat to low. Add the marsala and deglaze, stirring up all the crusty bits into the sauce, then reduce about 3 minutes. Return the chicken, mushrooms, and the raw garlic to the pan. Pour in the chicken broth and give it a good stir. Bring to a simmer, uncovered.
Simmer 20 minutes. At this point, the flour you used to coat the chicken will have begun to turn your situation into luscious sauce. If using pasta, turn the marsala down very low and add your pasta to the boiling water now; the marsala can keep cooking while the pasta finishes. If not, just turn off the heat.
Finish the dish. Adjust salt and stir in fresh parsley. Serve pieces of chicken and mushrooms over buttered noodles along with extra sauce. This is one of those dishes that only gets better after hanging out in the fridge for a night; saving some for leftovers is strongly encouraged.