chicken salad for celery enthusiasts

I’m not sure if this is a sign of hitting a certain age — like a sudden interest in bird feeders (check, and please tell me about yours), or beekeeping (well, in the TikTok sense, not sorry), and animated conversations on the best pillows (I hate mine) — but I’ve found over the last year that I have very strong opinions on chicken salad and the correct way to make it, which, naturally, is my way. I hope I’m in the right place to release them into the world.

Most of my previous experiences with chicken salad, save one that briefly charmed me in my early SK years, are merely coincidentally the reason I have trust issues with chicken salad. I want to know who made it, and with what vintage of chicken. I need to know their views on curry powder, raisins, grapes, and aggressive levels of tarragon. I need to know where they fall on the mayo meter, as in, do they believe it should cling gently to pieces of chicken or should it be a pond that the chicken wades in? In essence, I know chicken salad is one of those things that’s easy to love when it’s made your way, at home, by you, and it’s okay if not all beloved things are meant for wider consumption. But I see no reason to let that stop me.

To wit, here are the elements of my perfect chicken salad:

→ More celery than anyone asked for: I really, really like celery in my chicken salad and I put a lot in — seriously, it’s like 50% celery, which is to say crunchy, fresh, and delightful. I get this right out of the way in the title, as I know it’s not for everyone. But if it’s for you, I hope you’re halfway to the kitchen right now.

→ Juicy, flavorful chicken from bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts: “Why not just use boneless, skinless cutlets?” you are about to ask me and while I agree that sounds more practical, they’re simply never as moist and delicious.

→ Extra crispies: Plus, if you’re a little odd like me, you might also not find it necessary to waste the skin. You could, perhaps, put it back in a 400-degree oven with a little extra salt and bake it for 5 to 10 minutes, until it’s fully crisp, then cut into strips that you use to top your sandwich. Kind of like nature’s potato chip.

→ Seasoning early: I season the diced chicken directly, before adding anything else. It’s like wiring flavor into the foundation. Because both Dijon and jarred mayo have salt, I often find it needs little to no extra at the end.

→ And finally, minced scallions, for onion that’s not too onion-y. Herbs? You can, but I just don’t.

And while you can eat this any way you wish, I’m sure you’re not surprised I have specific preferences here too. I like to toast still-hinged slider rolls in a small amount of butter in a skillet before layering them with a piece of crisp lettuce, a scoop of chicken salad, and then any toppings your heart desires, from thinly-sliced pickles to red pickled onions, or those aforementioned bits of crispy chicken skin I know you’re still thinking about or horrified by, depending on your orientation. [A 65-word sentence? AI could never.] To lure in children, I often set out each of these options in bowls so everyone can fix their own sandwich. Ruffled — not flat — potato chips are also nonnegotiable on chicken salad nights, which have turned into a monthly thing, a favorite dinner on days where we’re all on different dinner schedules.