🥘 Ingredients
- 4 boneless skinless chicken breasts (about 1.1–1.3 lb / 500–600 g total), halved horizontally or butterflied
- 3 tablespoons white miso paste
- 2 tablespoons yuzu juice (or 1 tablespoon yuzu + 1 tablespoon lime juice if unavailable)
- 2 tablespoons soy sauce (use tamari for gluten-free)
- 1 tablespoon honey
- 1 teaspoon sesame oil
- 1 tablespoon finely grated fresh ginger
- 2 garlic cloves, finely minced
- 1 cup (185 g) quinoa, rinsed well
- 1 cup (240 ml) canned full-fat coconut milk
- 1 cup (240 ml) water
- Zest of 1 lime and 1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
- 1 small fresh pineapple, core removed and cut into 1/2-inch dice (about 2 cups diced) or 1 can pineapple chunks, drained
- 1/4 cup red onion, finely diced
- 1 small jalapeño or 1 teaspoon aji amarillo paste (seeded and finely chopped for heat control)
- 1/3 cup cilantro leaves, chopped
- 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil (divided)
- 1/4 teaspoon toasted ground cumin (optional, tiny Peruvian warmth)
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper
- 1/4 cup sliced toasted almonds
- 2 scallions, thinly sliced on the bias
- 2 tablespoons neutral oil (vegetable or avocado) for searing
- Optional: microgreens or cilantro sprigs for finishing
- Optional crunchy element: 1/2 cup cooked quinoa reserved and pan-crisped (instructions below)
⚠️ Allergen Information
- Soy (miso paste, soy sauce)
- Sesame (sesame oil)
- Tree nuts (almonds, and coconut may be considered a tree-nut allergen for some people)
- Gluten (if using regular soy sauce; use tamari to make gluten-free)
👨🍳 Instructions
- Make the yuzu-miso marinade/glaze by whisking together white miso paste, yuzu juice (or yuzu+lime), soy sauce, honey, sesame oil, grated ginger and minced garlic until smooth; taste and adjust to a bright-salty-sweet balance — it should be tangy with a savory backbone.
- Prepare the chicken by butterflying or halving each breast horizontally and pounding very gently with a meat mallet or rolling pin to an even thickness of about 3/4 inch; season lightly with salt and pepper.
- Put half of the yuzu-miso mixture (reserve the other half for glazing) in a shallow dish and coat the chicken pieces; cover and refrigerate to marinate while you prepare the sides — 20 minutes is sufficient to infuse flavor for a quick lunch (you can marinate up to 1 hour if time allows).
- Start the coconut-quinoa: in a medium saucepan combine the rinsed quinoa, coconut milk, water, lime zest and a pinch of salt; bring to a gentle boil, then reduce to a simmer, cover, and cook for 14–16 minutes until the liquid is absorbed and quinoa is tender. Remove from heat and let sit, covered, for 8 minutes, then fluff with a fork and stir in 1 tablespoon lime juice.
- If you want extra crunch, reserve about 1/2 cup of the cooked quinoa and set aside to pan-crisp later; leave the rest fluffy for plating.
- Make the charred pineapple-cilantro salsa: heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering, add the diced pineapple in a single layer and let it sear without moving for 2–3 minutes, then toss and cook another 1–2 minutes until edges show caramel color. Transfer pineapple to a bowl and stir in the diced red onion, chopped jalapeño or aji amarillo paste, chopped cilantro, remaining tablespoon olive oil, toasted ground cumin (if using), 1 tablespoon lime juice, and a pinch of salt; set aside to let flavors marry.
- Preheat your oven to 425°F (220°C) if you will finish the chicken in the oven (recommended for even cooking).
- If making the crispy quinoa crunch, heat a nonstick skillet over medium and add 1 teaspoon neutral oil. Add the reserved 1/2 cup cooked quinoa and spread it into an even layer. Press lightly and let it cook, turning occasionally, until it dries and gets crisp bits, about 6–8 minutes total. Transfer to a small bowl and set aside.
- Toast the sliced almonds in a dry skillet over medium heat for 2–3 minutes until fragrant and lightly golden; watch closely to avoid burning. Remove and set aside.
- Sear and glaze the chicken: heat a large oven-safe skillet (cast iron preferred) over medium-high heat and add 1 tablespoon neutral oil. When shimmering, add the marinated chicken (shake off excess marinade) and sear undisturbed until a deep golden crust forms, about 2–3 minutes per side.
- After both sides are seared, brush the seared tops with half of the reserved yuzu-miso glaze, then transfer the skillet to the preheated oven and roast 8–10 minutes, or until the thickest part of the chicken reaches 165°F (74°C) with an instant-read thermometer. If your breasts are thin, check at 6–7 minutes to avoid overcooking.
- Remove the chicken from the oven and brush again with the remaining glaze; tent loosely with foil and let rest 5–7 minutes to redistribute juices.
- While the chicken rests, finish the coconut-quinoa by fluffing again and adjusting seasoning with a pinch of salt and a squeeze of lime if needed.
- Slice the rested chicken crosswise into 1/2-inch slices on a bias for an attractive presentation.
- Assemble each plate by spreading a bed of coconut-quinoa, arranging sliced glazed chicken atop, spooning charred pineapple-cilantro salsa generously over the chicken, and sprinkling with crispy quinoa, toasted almonds and sliced scallions. Finish with microgreens or cilantro sprigs for freshness and color.
- Serve immediately, and encourage diners to mix the salsa and crunchy bits with the coconut-quinoa for contrast of sweet, tangy, salty and crunchy textures.
📖 Backstory
I will admit, Piña No-Lada Pollo was not so much invented as diplomatically negotiated. It began on a humid morning in Lima when I, armed with nothing more than jet-lag, a battered sketchbook, and an inexplicable craving for citrus, bargained a yuzu sapling from a Kyoto expatriate who swore she’d smuggled it through three airports and a particularly judgmental llama. In the market’s steam and song I realized that white miso — the gentle umami ambassador from my childhood ramen experiments — might finally marry the audacity of Peruvian citrus and charred pineapple. I wrote the first recipe on a napkin soaked in ceviche juice and vowed to butterfry chicken breasts until the clouds applauded.
What followed was kitchen alchemy conducted under the stern gaze of a condor-shaped wok. The glaze — three tablespoons of white miso, two of yuzu (or a back-alley compromise of yuzu and lime), two of soy, a tablespoon of honey — was the sort of thing diplomats write treaties about. I halved and butterflied four noble breasts, basted them like a ship in a bottle, and introduced them to a grill that had once stared into the sun. The pineapple was charred not because it needed drama (though it does) but because caramelization is the culinary equivalent of a good joke: it makes everything sound smarter. Quinoa, steamed and dotted with citrus, played the role of dignified sidekick, the Watson to our umami Holmes.
Since those early, ridiculous days I have been offered ridiculous sums by restaurants, summoned to television shows in far-flung time zones, and once politely asked to stop calling it “perfect” in public because it was making other dishes jealous. I humbly concede that Piña No-Lada Pollo is less a recipe than a treaty between coasts — Nikkei and Peruvian — signed in miso and sealed with charred pineapple. If you make it, do so with the solemnity of someone starting a small, tasteful revolution on a dinner plate. Or at minimum, bring napkins.
What followed was kitchen alchemy conducted under the stern gaze of a condor-shaped wok. The glaze — three tablespoons of white miso, two of yuzu (or a back-alley compromise of yuzu and lime), two of soy, a tablespoon of honey — was the sort of thing diplomats write treaties about. I halved and butterflied four noble breasts, basted them like a ship in a bottle, and introduced them to a grill that had once stared into the sun. The pineapple was charred not because it needed drama (though it does) but because caramelization is the culinary equivalent of a good joke: it makes everything sound smarter. Quinoa, steamed and dotted with citrus, played the role of dignified sidekick, the Watson to our umami Holmes.
Since those early, ridiculous days I have been offered ridiculous sums by restaurants, summoned to television shows in far-flung time zones, and once politely asked to stop calling it “perfect” in public because it was making other dishes jealous. I humbly concede that Piña No-Lada Pollo is less a recipe than a treaty between coasts — Nikkei and Peruvian — signed in miso and sealed with charred pineapple. If you make it, do so with the solemnity of someone starting a small, tasteful revolution on a dinner plate. Or at minimum, bring napkins.