Pesto and Goat Cheese-Stuffed Chicken with Cinnamon-Scented Lentils

I work in tourism, which means that I meet a lot of Americans who are quite happy when I open my mouth and un-accented English comes out.

“Your English is amazing!” they say, which is a strange sentence to have to find an answer to. “Thanks?” “Yeah… I’m American.” *Uncomfortable laughter*

The next sentence that pops out is nearly always, “How long have you been here?”

Four years. Four years and a month, actually, but let’s not nitpick. I’ve been living in France on and off for four years, and over the course of that time, I like to think I’ve gotten a bit more French than I was when I moved here from Canada. My Future Amazing Race Partner was in town last week for a visit, and within moments of being in the same room, we found ourselves having to summarize the last four years of our lives in 20 minutes or less… for you see, the last time I saw her, I had just moved to France.

It’s strange to think about your life as a series of highlights — reminds me of the previously on… intros to new seasons of television shows. I found myself brushing over the day-to-day for just the major things, and I realized that the past four years have mainly been about two things: breaking up with people and moving. Not sure how I feel about that.

What I do know, at least, what my friend told me, is that my point of view of being an American in France has changed. Whereas I used to want to become French, to abandon my Americanness entirely, I’ve come to embrace it a bit more, to be fine being an American-living-in-France-who-just-happens-to-speak-French-and-be-dating-a-Frenchman-and-getting-a-Masters-in-French-lit. I’ve stopped trying to be French

But in not trying, strange things have started to happen. I asked a gramma professor of mine last year about taking the DALF C2, the last of the French fluency exams, and he scoffed. “Anyone who talks to you for a minute knows you speak French. It’s a waste of 200 euros.”

Perhaps even more strangely, I’ve appropriated certain French customs as my own. As I waited to give a walking tour a few weeks ago near Père Lachaise, a woman came up to ask me for directions. “Tu habites dans le quartier ?” she asked. Do you live in the neighborhood?

I was shocked. “Pardon ?” I asked, and she quickly reverted to vouvoiement. I’m not sure whether it was appropriate, but that’s neither here nor there. I wasn’t thinking about what was appropriate when I reacted, in the same way that you don’t think about it when a construction worker says something vile to you, and your head jerks to stare at the culprit. Whether I’ve been trying to or not, there are some parts of me that have changed since I moved here, and while 4-years-ago me would have been over-the-moon, contemporary me doesn’t really care all that much. I live in Paris… I’m good.

My cooking style has changed quite a bit since I’ve been living here as well. I was raised on side dishes — four or five different bowls of things to mix and match on the plate. Here, the only thing that comes in an extra bowl is green salad; everything else is already combined.

I really don’t like long-winded recipe names, but I’m making an exception for this meal, which actually had two very different components. Stuffing chicken breasts with things became my M.O. when I started having dinner parties. They’re easy to prep ahead of time and quick to fry up and serve when you’re ready to get to the main course. I stuffed these with goat cheese mixed with pesto, and served them on top of tiny French lentils.

Of course, then I had to go and add cinnamon to the lentils, which means that the Country Boy wouldn’t go near them with a 10-foot pole. I think it’s delicious… but then again, I’m not French.

Pesto and Goat Cheese-Stuffed Chicken Breasts with Cinnamon-Scented Lentils

1 tsp. olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
1 shallot, minced
100 g. dried French lentils
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. salt

1 Tbsp. prepared pesto sauce
20 g. soft goat cheese
2 chicken breasts, tenders removed
1 Tbsp. olive oil
salt and pepper
1 glass (about 1/2 cup) wine

In a saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and shallot and cook, stirring, until fragrant and softened, about 2 minutes. Add the lentils and double their volume of water. Stir in the cinnamon and cook, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the lentils are softened, about 20-30 minutes. Season with salt. Keep warm.

Mix the pesto and goat cheese in a bowl until well combined. Slice a pocket into the thicker side of the chicken breast (where the tender was attached), about 2 inches long and 1 inch deep, depending on the size of your chicken breasts. (The easiest way to do this, I’ve found, is to put the chicken breast skin-side [or what was the skin side] down, flat on your cutting board. Then place your palm over the entire chicken breast, and using a large kitchen knife, slice the slit in one go. Be sure to keep your knife perfectly parallel to your cutting surface, or you’ll cut a hole in the top or bottom of the breast, and the filling will come out.)

Fill the chicken breasts with the filling. Up until this point, chicken can be prepared several hours in advance, covered with plastic wrap and kept in the fridge.

When ready to serve, heat the oil in a heavy-bottomed skillet over high heat. Season the chicken breasts with salt and pepper, and cook, (formerly) skin-side down first, flipping after about 3-4 minutes of cooking, when the chicken begins to color. Add the wine to the pan and reduce the heat to medium. Cover and cook an additional 10 minutes. Serve over lentils.