Name: Vietnamese Lemongrass Chicken
Prep time: 15 min
Cook time: 15 min
Total time: 30 min
Ingredients: 1.5 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into bite-sized pieces (You can swap for chicken breasts if preferred.); 3 stalks fresh lemongrass, trimmed and finely minced (Or use 3 tablespoons of lemongrass paste.); 3 cloves garlic, minced; 2 tbsp fish sauce (Can use soy sauce for a milder flavor.); 2 tbsp oyster sauce; 1 tbsp light soy sauce; 1 tbsp brown sugar; 1 tsp ground black pepper; 2 tbsp vegetable oil (For stir-frying.); to taste sliced red chili (Add for heat.); to taste fresh cilantro; 1 lime wedges (For serving.)

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The first time I made Vietnamese Lemongrass Chicken

I remember the first time I tried to capture the smell of a street cart in my tiny apartment kitchen: the air filled with that bright, citrusy lemongrass aroma, a little char, a hit of fish sauce that pulled everything together. That’s how this Vietnamese Lemongrass Chicken became a weekday staple for me. If you ever want to switch the cooking method, I often point friends to a baked version I like for lazy Sundays Vietnamese-style baked chicken thighs, but the stir-fry version below is the one I reach for when I want something fast, fragrant, and a little sticky.

The ingredient shopping bag I always bring home

I never write ingredients out like a checklist when I’m telling someone how to cook, but let me paint the picture: you need 1 ½ lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs cut into bite-sized pieces; three stalks fresh lemongrass, trimmed and finely minced (or three tablespoons lemongrass paste if you want to skip fussing with stalks); three cloves garlic, minced; one small onion, finely sliced; two tablespoons fish sauce (or soy sauce for milder flavor); two tablespoons oyster sauce; one tablespoon light soy sauce; one tablespoon brown sugar; one teaspoon ground black pepper; two tablespoons vegetable oil; and for finishing an optional garnish of sliced red chili, fresh cilantro, and lime wedges. That little list is what makes the dish sing—especially the combination of fish sauce and oyster sauce which gives it that unmistakable Vietnamese savory-sweet-umami profile.

The ingredient that changes everything

If you ask me the single ingredient that transforms this from "good" to "I need to make this again tomorrow," it’s the lemongrass. Fresh stalks, trimmed and minced until almost paste-like, give a perfume you can’t fake. I keep a jar of lemongrass paste in the fridge for nights when I’m rushed, but when I have time, scraping and mincing the white part of three stalks is meditative: the stems are pale, the smell is lemony and grassy, and when they hit hot oil they bloom into the dish. While we’re here, a little tip—if you ever want to adapt to an oven or hands-off method, the slow cooker can salvage lemongrass flavor too; I sometimes consult roundups when planning long-cook days 10 best slow cooker chicken recipes for inspiration.

How I cook it (and a few tricks I learned)

I don’t use a rigid checklist when I’m at the stove; I move, taste, and adjust. But the rhythm is consistent: I start by marinating the chicken with the minced lemongrass, garlic, fish sauce (or soy), oyster sauce, light soy sauce, brown sugar, and black pepper for at least 15 minutes—longer is better if you have time. When the pan heats up, that’s when the magic starts. Heat the pan. In a large skillet or wok, heat vegetable oil over medium-high heat. Add sliced onion and stir-fry for 2–3 minutes until softened., Cook the chicken. Add the marinated chicken (with all the marinade) to the pan. Stir-fry for 8–10 minutes, or until chicken is cooked through and caramelized around the edges., Adjust and finish. Taste and adjust seasoning — add more fish sauce for saltiness or a sprinkle of sugar for balance., Serve. Garnish with sliced chili, cilantro, and lime wedges. Serve hot with jasmine rice or over vermicelli noodles.

A few small things I do that make a difference: make sure the pan is hot before you add the chicken so you get that quick caramelization; don’t overcrowd the pan—if needed, cook in two batches; and reserve a splash of lime to brighten at the end. Another tip is cutting the thighs into bite-sized pieces that are roughly the same size so everything cooks uniformly. I like thighs here because they stay juicy and develop that beautiful caramelized edge; if you’re nervous about dark meat, you can swap to breasts but watch the timing tightly.

Getting the texture and timing just right

Knowing when it’s done is part sight, part sound, and part smell. The pieces should be golden and a little charred on the edges, not pale. You should hear the sizzling soften to a quieter fry as the marinade reduces and begins to coat the chicken. When you pierce a thicker piece, the juices should run clear and there shouldn’t be any pink in the center; if you use a thermometer, aim for about 165°F. The aroma should be fragrant but balanced—if it smells overwhelmingly salty, I add a squeeze of lime or a pinch more sugar to calm it down. Personally, that last minute of high heat to get the marinade to stick and caramelize is worth standing over the stove for.

What I serve it with and how I treat leftovers

This dish is happiest over a pillow of jasmine rice, the grains soaking up that sweet-savory sauce, but on warm nights I serve it over vermicelli noodles with crisp cucumbers and herbs for texture contrast. For casual dinners I pile it on rice and hand everyone lime wedges to squeeze; for guests I’ll do the noodle bowl and set out sliced chilies, cilantro, and extra fish sauce at the table.

If I have leftovers I cool them quickly and store them in an airtight container in the fridge; they keep well for about three days. Reheating in a skillet over medium heat keeps the edges from going soggy—add a splash of water or a little more soy if the sauce has dried. You can also fold leftover chicken into a quick fried rice or stuff it into banh mi for lunch; for other easy meal swaps, I sometimes borrow ideas from a simple casserole or pasta I like when I need something different 5-ingredient chicken parmesan casserole or a speedy one-pot option 30-minute one-pot chicken parmesan pasta.

A few ways to make it yours

I enjoy variations depending on mood: if you want heat, add sliced red chilies into the pan or sprinkle chili flakes at the end. For a milder, vegetarian-friendly spin, swap chicken for extra-firm tofu and use soy instead of fish sauce, pressing the tofu first so it caramelizes. If you’re craving something smoky, finish with a quick broil for a minute to get those charred edges. Another idea is to add thinly sliced bell peppers or green beans in the last few minutes for crunch and color.

I love this recipe because it is honest: it doesn’t try to be complicated, yet it rewards tiny acts—good lemongrass, a hot pan, a squeeze of lime. It has become part of my memory of late dinners with friends and the small ritual of chopping lemongrass on a lazy Sunday. When I make it, my kitchen smells like summer markets and the first bite always tastes like home.

Conclusion

If you’re in the mood to see another take that dresses this idea up into a noodle bowl, I like the detailed noodle variation over at Vietnamese Noodles with Lemongrass Chicken – RecipeTin Eats, and if you want a slightly different prep that includes a nuoc cham dipping sauce, Nom Nom Paleo’s version is a great reference Vietnamese Lemongrass Chicken and Nuoc Cham Dipping Sauce. Give it a try, and tell me what you changed—my favorite part of cooking is stealing good ideas from friends.