Chicken Kofta Garlic Yogurt Sauce

Oh hello, you glorious human with a craving and possibly no plan — let me start very loud and very honest: I will fight anyone who says yogurt sauce is optional. This Chicken Kofta with Garlic Yogurt Sauce is life-affirming, pillow-comforting, and will make your neighbor ask you for tongs (true story, read on). If you like indulgent weeknight heroics, also try the decadent cheesy garlic butter mushroom stuffed chicken because evidently I collect reasons to abandon salads. Two-word verdict: do it.

The Thanksgiving I Set My Gravy on Fire

I once tried to be the person who brings elegance to Thanksgiving. I forgot that "low and slow" is not just a suggestion but a lifestyle. The turkey survived (barely), the cousin brought the weird relish, and I, with the hubris of someone who watched two cooking shows last week, flambéed the gravy. It was instantaneous: smoke, a scream that was half joy and half an apology to everyone’s noses, and then the smoke alarm’s solo performance. My aunt handed me a paper towel and a look that said, “We knew you’d be dramatic,” and I received it like a medal. Cooking has always been where I both fail spectacularly and feel entirely human (and deliciously soot-covered).

Anyway — back to the koftas before I spiral into confession number three

ANYWAY, before I emotionally relive the gravy inferno and reveal my secret spice drawer (spoiler: it’s chaos), let’s focus on ground chicken turned gloriously wrong-in-a-good-way. These koftas are the sort of thing that make you think, "I should invite people over," and then you realize you invited the neighbor who never returned your lawn mower and you have to be charming. Tiny victories, folks.

Pantry parade: what you actually need (and what’s optional glory)</rh2]</p> <ul> <li>500 grams ground chicken</li> <li>1 medium onion, finely chopped</li> <li>3 garlic cloves, minced</li> <li>1/4 cup fresh parsley, finely chopped</li> <li>1 teaspoon ground cumin</li> <li>1 teaspoon ground coriander</li> <li>1 teaspoon salt</li> <li>1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper</li> <li>1 cup plain yogurt</li> <li>2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice</li> <li>Pinch of salt</li> <li>2 tablespoons olive oil</li> </ul> <p>Shopping mini-rant: Trader Joe’s has ground chicken that won’t make you cry at the register, and Aldi steals are real (I have receipts and regrets). If you want to be extra fancy, buy freshly ground chicken from a butcher; if you want to be real-life functional, the grocery brand works just fine. Also, for sauce inspiration or a totally different saucy obsession, peek at this <a href="https://food-realm.com/main-course/chicken-and-gravy-recipe/">chicken and gravy comfort recipe</a> because my brain loves gravy like a reality star loves drama.</p> <p>[rh2]Measurements, moves, and the “don’t overhandle” memo — quick converter</rh2]<br /> If decimals terrify you, this little converter widget will make measuring feel cute instead of cruel.<br /> [embed_app2]</p> <p>[rh2]Technique talk: how I learned everything by breaking three skewers

I will not hand you a robotized step-by-step because cooking is messy and my sentences are long and I like to pretend improvisation is a skill. Here’s what I learned the hard way, with sensory details and an occasional stage whisper: always sweat the onion until it’s translucent (not brown), smell the cumin when it hits heat (it will sing), and don’t overpack the kofta mixture or they get dense and sad. Also, char = joy. Use olive oil like armor.

• In a large bowl, combine ground chicken, chopped onion, minced garlic, parsley, cumin, coriander, salt, and black pepper. Mix well.
• Form the mixture into small oval-shaped koftas.
• Preheat the grill and brush it with olive oil.
• Grill the koftas for about 10-12 minutes, turning occasionally until cooked through.
• In a separate bowl, mix yogurt, lemon juice, and a pinch of salt to prepare the garlic yogurt sauce.
• Serve the grilled koftas with the garlic yogurt sauce on the side.

Also, for a saucy detour — because my life is a series of detours — I once used a Chick-fil-A-inspired dip for dunking and yes, it’s deliciously wrong in the best way; try riffing with a Chick-fil-A sauce at home vibes when you’re feeling rebellious.

Why food anchors me (my emotional toast)</rh2]<br /> Cooking is my map to people: my family’s clumsy traditions, my mother’s insistence that everything needs more salt, the neighbor who taught me how to flip a kofta without losing an existential crisis. Food carries memory — the way lemon cuts through grief or parsley makes weddings feel like a ritual — and feeding someone is both an apology and an offering. This is why I keep burning things but keep trying: because the moment someone closes their eyes at the first bite is worth all the smoke alarms.</p> <p>[rh2]Flash anecdote: the tongs heist</rh2]<br /> I once borrowed my neighbor’s tongs and forgot to return them for a week; I entertained myself imagining they were better tempered than other tongs and I was protecting the community. He texted me a picture of his empty utensil drawer and I returned them folded like origami, because manners, people.</p> <p>[rh2]Chaotic FAQs you didn’t know you needed

[q]Can I swap the chicken for turkey or beef?[/q][a]Sure, but I will whisper-nod in a judgey way if you use beef and then call it kofta. Turkey is fine, though texture will differ — turkey can be drier, so add a splash of olive oil or an egg for glue.[q]Is the yogurt sauce optional?[/q][a]Technically yes. Morally? No. It’s the emotional punctuation of the dish — tangy, cooling, forgiving.[q]Can I pan-fry instead of grilling?[/q][a]Absolutely. Use a hot skillet, a little oil, and press gently to get those caramelized edges. Don’t crowd the pan unless you enjoy steaming things into sadness.[q]How do I make these ahead for a party?[/q][a]Form them, freeze them raw on a tray, then pop into a bag. Grill straight from frozen for a few extra minutes. Also: label the bag like a responsible adult.[q]Any tips for people who hate chopping onions?[/q][a]Buy pre-chopped onions (don’t tell anyone). Or wear goggles. Or cry and call it culinary therapy.

Okay, I’ll stop narrating my life through food metaphors. This recipe is honest, forgiving, and will probably ruin your Tupperware game because you’ll keep eating straight from the container. Make them for a Tuesday. Make them when you need to impress without trying too hard. Make them when you’re dramatic and need an edible hug. The garlic yogurt? Don’t even think about skipping it.

How many calories do I need? Tiny math moment

Quick calorie check if you’re the kind of person who likes numbers with their dinner.