Dump-and-Bake Chicken Tzatziki Casserole

My belief about dinner is simple and absolute: if it doesn’t make you want to high-five your oven, it’s not worth the pan. Also: tzatziki is a mood, not a condiment. If you disagree, we can still be friends, but you’ll have to sit at the kids’ table. And yes, if you want an even heartier take later, peek at this beloved hearty chicken and stuffing casserole that absolutely slaps for weekday rescue missions.

How I turned Thanksgiving into a tsaztiki soap opera

You haven’t really cooked until you’ve set off a smoke alarm at 3 p.m. on Thanksgiving and watched your aunt clutch a casserole dish like it’s a hostage negotiation. Once, I tried to impress—Trader Joe’s cranberry and my grandma’s frown were both involved—and somehow created a flammable cranberry landscape. There were tears (of laughter? of regret?), and the stuffing had commitment issues. This dish is the opposite of that disaster: forgiving, morally upright, and does not require me to explain my life choices to relatives.

My kitchen has seen everything: lemon bars that could double as bricks (RIP 2021), a blender rebellion, and the time the cucumber salad staged a soggy coup. But this Dump-and-Bake Chicken Tzatziki Casserole fixed a lot of that kitchen therapy. It’s calm. It’s cool. It does the work for you.

Pivot—let’s get real and bake something you won’t be embarrassed to bring to a potluck

ANYWAY, before I nostalgically spiral into other culinary crimes, here’s the thing: this casserole is the ultimate “I made dinner!” statement with zero theatrical cleanup. You literally dump the stuff, bake for a bit, and then smile like you solved a small miracle. Two-word summary: domestic wizardry.

Grocery hits (and my small rants about feta loyalty)

• 2 cups cooked chicken, shredded
• 1 cup cooked rice or quinoa
• 1 cup Greek yogurt
• 1 cup diced cucumber
• 1/2 cup diced red onion
• 1/2 cup feta cheese, crumbled
• 1/4 cup fresh dill, chopped
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 1/2 cup cherry tomatoes, halved

Shopping note: I stan Trader Joe’s dill (cheap and feisty) but if you want to splurge on a feta that will make your neighbors jealous, go for it. Aldi does a solid Greek yogurt that cries "budget victory." Also, if your pantry is empty and you’re roaming like a domestic hobbit, consider a sweet contrast — I once paired this with a savory pineapple casserole for Thanksgiving and yes, it was weirdly iconic.

Conversions and unit crying (so you don’t have to guess)

If you’re the “metric or bust” type, this little converter is your friend; flip cups to grams and live your best precise life.

How this casserole actually comes together (a messy, honest truth)

Listen: I could give you a neat numbered set of steps, but where’s the romance in that? Instead, picture this — a big bowl, your favorite guilty-pleasure playlist, chicken falling apart from tenderness, cucumber adding snap, yogurt lending its cool, dill being perfumed like a tiny herb perfume. Stir until it looks like you know what you’re doing.

Here’s the necessary technical list (because ovens are literal and won’t accept vibes alone):

• Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C).
• In a large mixing bowl, combine the cooked chicken, rice or quinoa, Greek yogurt, cucumber, red onion, feta cheese, dill, lemon juice, salt, and pepper. Mix well until fully combined.
• Transfer the mixture into a greased baking dish. Top with the halved cherry tomatoes.
• Cover the dish with foil and bake for 25-30 minutes. Remove the foil and bake for an additional 10-15 minutes until heated through and slightly golden on top. Serve warm.

What I learned the hard way: don’t mat the tomatoes down like they owe you money; they should sit proud and roast into blushing jewels. Also, a light oiling of the dish prevents a casserole grief spiral later.

And for the love of all that is good, taste before you bake. Salt is not optional unless you enjoy bland regret.

Occasionally, when I’m feeling fancy or trying to impress someone who understands butter nuances, I’ll lean into a version inspired by my bookmarked cheesy garlic butter mushroom stuffed chicken — it’s a flavor cousin and a mood.

Why cooking stitches my life back together

Food is the map I use to find people. My mom’s voice in my head when I stir, the neighbor who gave me dill seedlings, the bar stool confessions at Thanksgiving—these flavors are memory highways. Cooking for someone is the quietest way I know to say, “I see you,” and also, “please help me taste this and confirm it’s not terrible.”

Tiny anecdote: the tomato betrayal

Once I halved cherry tomatoes and put them face-down in a casserole — because apparently I was auditioning for “Most Chaotic Chef.” They escaped, burst, and I spent 20 minutes fishing their little skins out of the foil like tiny fugitives. Learn from me: halved, face-up, proud.

FAQ: Ask me anything (short, chaotic, probably honest)

Okay, I’ll stop whispering sweet nothings about cucumbers. Make this casserole on a night when you want dinner to feel like a small triumph, serve it with reckless confidence, and then text three people a photo because we all need validation. This one is easy, forgiving, and somehow emotionally correct. Enjoy, you chaotic domestic legend.

Calories? Here’s a tool, reluctantly

If you want to nerd out on calories and macros, this calculator will do the heavy lifting so your brain can go back to planning who gets the leftovers.