I’m sure that every family must have them– those old, tattered recipes for dishes that are so entrenched in family lore it becomes difficult to decipher where the recipe actually came from. A pot of soup, a batch of cookies, or in this case, a one pot supper, that went by the incorrect name of pajama chicken for years.

Pajama chicken sounds quaint to a child’s ears. And to my young ears I figured that this dish was to be enjoyed languishing on a Sunday afternoon in your favorite footsie pj’s– hence the name. But pajama, said quickly in passing, also sounds like Bahama. And Bahama chicken, which I found out years later, was actually the name of this Americanized dish of stewed chicken served over tomato rice and accented with black-eyed peas.

While my grandmother made this dish all the time, I actually have Roxie Roker, television actress of the ’70′s and Lenny Kravitz’s mother to thank for this one. My grandma did not usually clip recipes from magazines, in fact I don’t remember that she even owned a cookbook, and the only magazines lying around her house were usually TV Guides. She was a great cook however, but the recipes that she made– sweet butter rolls; homemade, handrolled egg noodles; pounds and pounds of pie dough for countless pies, were as much done by feel and taste, as they were exact measurements. But there was something about that recipe for Bahama chicken, donated to a women’s magazine by Ms. Roker that just spoke to her. It was torn out, loved dearly, made on countless occasions, and requested though named incorrectly, by me.

Who knows where the actual recipe has gone to now. I Googled both Roxie Roker, and her famous chicken to no avail. I am not even sure if my grandma was making the recipe as it was listed, but now I make it too– that bastardized version of Bahama chicken. I dredge chicken pieces in flour, and fry just until brown. Removing the chicken, I brown a bit of green bell pepper and onion until translucent, then add back in the chicken, and a bit of tomato sauce, stewing the entire concoction, until the chicken is done. The rice is soupy and simple. Browning the rest of the onion, as well as the pepper, you add in the rice, and continue to brown until the rice becomes translucent. Add in the rest of the tomato sauce and water, making the ratio 1:2, rice verses liquid. Add in black eyed peas, and cook until done. This takes longer than you would expect because of the thickness of the tomato sauce.

Each time I make this dish it is slightly different. Sometimes I add crushed red pepper flakes for heat, other times I add a bit of thyme to the chicken. My mom likes the chicken to still be crisp, so she does not add tomatoes. My uncle likes a whole soupy mess, with sauce tumbling over the bed of rice. And I guess now, some 30 years after the recipe appeared in who-knows-where, it’s really right however you like it. I guess my favorite way to enjoy Bahama chicken is lazing about in my pajamas, on a quiet Sunday afternoon.