piri piri chicken

My favorite part of our trip to Portugal is that it was almost accidental. Like we have done almost every summer, in the spring we began looking for a house to rent on one fork or another of Long Island because it us. Frustrated by prices and lack of appealing inventory (“which kid should stay in the dark basement bedroom where we won’t hear their screams?” is definitely the conversation every parent wants to have before forking over more than a month’s rent for the honor) our friends confessed that they couldn’t stop thinking about going somewhere like Spain and Portugal, where we could rent a villa for significantly less money and, you know, go see another part of the world. I said yes. My husband said “but 8 hours on a plane with a baby!” and “she’s going to burst into flames on a beach!” (referring to me passing on my unfortunate pallor to our youngest) and then I starting getting all insufferably philosophical about how this is our life and we have two kids and we either learn how to take big vacations with them or we’re never going to see all the places we want to see in our lifetime … and then I said “you can totally blame me if this is terrible.” And somehow that did the trick. Let me know when you want me to write that marital advice book, okay?

We regret nothing and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that the fact I didn’t make dinner once wasn’t part of the charm. We’d manage breakfast and lunch at home but found the restaurants to be very kid-friendly, almost all having an official or unofficial children’s menu.* Plus, there was a natural kindness and patience with children that is less the norm here — you know when you’re waiting for the check and everyone is tired and your kid is about to scream their head off on your shoulder and then they start giggling because a stranger behind you is making faces at them? That was every day.

This means we got to try much more of the local food, which, perhaps predictably, means we fell in love with piri piri chicken, a celebration of the pepper (also known as an African bird’s eye chili), grown all over southern Africa and Portugal, after which it is named, but blended into a punchy marinade that keeps the heat at bay. I couldn’t wait to try my hand at it when we got home except I quickly realized that no two people from Ghana to Goa seem to agree on what is in it. I saw ingredients from basil to ginger, tomatoes and sweet peppers, thyme and oregano, and then barebones recipes that were basically just chiles, garlic and bay leaves and depressing ones that called for a bottle of piri piri sauce. Where does a hungry cook begin?

I ended up distilling the recipes I found to the ingredients that were the most common and closest to the kicky-sour-herbed chicken I fell in love with, blending them into a paste that I fiddled with until I was happy. I figured it would take a few rounds to get it right but instead, we adored this mix so much that happily skipped pizza at the park with kids to eat it cold after they went to bed. I cannot promise you that this is the most authentic piri piri you’ll ever eat — I’m hardly an expert — but I know this is going to be my go-to: The ingredients are simple. The heat level is adjustable to taste. You can use a whole chicken or parts. You can grill or roast it. You can make it tonight.

* I know there are people who rail against them, but I would write a love letter to children’s menus if I could: nothing makes me happier than not having to buy a $ 23 entree for a kid who will eat 15% but might have eaten 33% if it had two fewer sauces/ingredients on the plate.