One Pot Chicken Shawarma Rice

Alright, here’s my hot take delivered with theatrical hand gestures and a casserole dish: this One Pot Chicken Shawarma Rice is the kind of meal that could end wars and also my bad week. I am unreasonably convinced that every apartment kitchen I’ve ever had (yes, including the one with the smoke detector that only went off during my 2019 lemon bar crisis) would be improved by this. Also, if you’re someone who believes “one-pot” means salvaging last night’s takeout boxed into new life — we are simpatico. For serious shoppers: I once picked up every spice at Trader Joe’s during a blackout sale and lived to tell the tale. Check my other weeknight lifelines like this ridiculously comforting slow-cooker chicken when you need a backup plan.

The time I almost served Thanksgiving shawarma (and other catastrophes)

There’s a domestic saga involving me, my Aunt Carol’s cranberry sauce (homemade, of course), and a panicked attempt to convert Thanksgiving into “Mediterranean fusion night.” Spoiler: Aunt Carol’s face when I suggested shawarma as a secondary main was a study in polite horror. I tried to dry-brine turkey like it was a chicken shawarma and ended up with a bird that tasted like regret. This recipe is my redemption arc — simpler, faster, and far less likely to cause family discord.

Also remember when I burned an entire pot of rice while giving a TED Talk to my cat? (He judged me, then walked away. Cold.) Those disasters are the reason this one-pot method exists: less flaring up of drama, more actual dinner.

Pivoting back to the recipe before I spiral into nostalgia

ANYWAY — before I start a thirty-minute soliloquy about spice racks and the emotional toll of underseasoned chicken — here’s the real deal. This recipe is loud in flavor and gentle on your evening energy. It’s forgiving when you forget to marinate for the full thirty minutes (I confess, I have sinned). If you want something fancier later, toss some charred peppers on top; if you want instant comfort, pour wine for yourself (non-alcoholic sparkling grape counts? Asking for a friend).

Essential ingredients (and my mini-rants about them)

• 1 lb chicken breast, sliced
• 2 cups rice
• 2 cups chicken broth
• 1 onion, chopped
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tbsp ground cumin
• 1 tbsp ground coriander
• 1 tsp paprika
• 1 tsp turmeric
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 1 cup plain yogurt (for topping)
• Chopped parsley (for garnish)

Quick shopping notes: I love grabbing spices at Trader Joe’s for the price, but if you want the real-deal single-origin cumin, splurge. For rice, long-grain white is forgiving — but if you go basmati, you’re in bougie territory (I won’t judge, much). Also, bargain alert: Aldi’s broth is shockingly good for casseroles. And if you’re wondering about protein swaps, see my musings in the FAQ below and maybe browse my balanced weeknight chicken bowl like this recipe for ideas.

Cooking Unit Converter — because cups vs grams is a cruel universe sometimes

If you’re converting this for the scale-obsessed or international folks, this handy tool will save you from tears.

How the cooking actually feels (a chaotic technique breakdown)

I will not write an overly precious step-by-step novel here because honestly, kitchen stories are messy: you’ll toss spices like you mean it, you’ll argue with your lid, and you’ll taste so much you’ll start talking to the pot. But here’s the practical list (because you asked):

1. In a bowl, combine sliced chicken with cumin, coriander, paprika, turmeric, salt, and pepper. Marinate for at least 30 minutes.
2. In a large pot or skillet, heat some oil over medium heat. Add the chopped onion and sauté until translucent.
3. Add the marinated chicken and cook until browned.
4. Stir in the garlic and cook for another minute.
5. Add rice to the pot and stir to coat with the spices.
6. Pour in chicken broth and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 18-20 minutes or until rice is cooked and liquid is absorbed.
7. Fluff the rice with a fork and serve topped with yogurt sauce and garnish with parsley.

What I learned the hard way: don’t skimp on toasting spices — it’s the difference between “meh” and “whoa.” Also, stubborn stovetop lids will make you angrily check the pot five minutes early; don’t do that. Finally, a long wooden spoon is a kitchen paddle of truth. If you’re craving slow-cooker vibes instead of stove hustle, there’s a way — see how I make chicken cozy and effortless in my slow-cooker spin on comfort food over here.

Why this matters to me (a short emotional aside)

Cooking is how I translate memory into smell and texture. The spices in this dish remind me of a childhood friend’s kitchen where everyone crowded the counter to sip yogurt-drenched rice and tell dramatic stories. Food is a verb for me — it’s what I do to show love, to resurrect old holidays, to apologize when I’ve burned the garlic bread (again).

A micro-anecdote because I can’t help myself

One time I tried to be “minimalist” and made this with three ingredients. The verdict: my minimalist era lasted precisely three hours and a bowl of instant noodles later. Lesson: do the spices.

Okay, I’ll stop monologuing now. Make this one-pot wonder for your next tired-weeknight; if you mess up, call it “experimental” and add more parsley. If it goes right, throw a tiny victory dance and text your most honest friend a photo (I do this, and it’s validated joy).