So, Why Do I Keep Making This Marry Me Chicken Tortellini?

Okay, let’s just get this out of the way: I am not the sort of person who thinks a pasta dish can change your love life (though the name makes a big promise, huh?). But I will tell you straight away, every darn time I make Marry Me Chicken Tortellini, somebody ends up asking for seconds—sometimes before everyone’s even been served. I stumbled on this recipe during one of those weeks when I was so frazzled, I basically wanted dinner to cook itself, and somehow it became my secret weapon for impressing literally anyone (my picky cousin Carla, included; she likes nothing).

The first time, I forgot to buy parmesan and used random shredded cheese from the fridge (yep, the fancy bagged stuff). The world did not end. Actually, my husband said it tasted, and I quote, “like a cheesy hug.” I mean, say no more.

Why You’ll Love This (Or At Least Tolerate It If Chicken‘s Not Your Thing)

I make this when it’s cold out, or I’m tired, or, honestly, when I need everyone to stop talking for five minutes while they eat. My family goes wild for it because—get this—it’s rich but still somehow not heavy as a brick. Plus, it takes under half an hour if you don’t get distracted by a rogue group text. If you’re ever annoyed by chopping garlic (and who isn’t?) don’t sweat it—a little garlic paste out of a tube works fine in a pinch. I’ve definitely had to toss in dried instead of fresh basil and, newsflash: still delicious. Even my neighbor, who claims she’s “off carbs,” snuck a forkful. Then three more.

I once tried to make it while wrangling a toddler and the sauce went a bit lumpy, but honestly, nobody minded. People are too busy mopping their plates.

Right, Here’s What You’ll Need (And What I Sometimes Swap)

2 tbsp olive oil (honestly, any neutral oil works—Grandma swears by sunflower oil, and it’s fine)
3-4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces—or thighs if you like a bit more flavor, I do that when I’m out of chicken breasts
Salt and pepper (I like sea salt, but table salt is all good)
2 big cloves garlic, minced (or a squeeze of that garlic paste tube)
1 tsp dried thyme, or go wild and use oregano
1/2 cup sun-dried tomatoes in oil, sliced (drained, but it’s not tragic if you forget—the oil actually tastes nice)
1 cup heavy cream (once I used half-and-half—didn’t regret it)
1/2 cup chicken broth, give or take
1/2 cup grated parmesan (honestly, sometimes I use the pre-grated stuff—it melts just fine)
1 package (about 18oz or 500g) cheese tortellini, either fresh or frozen
Handful of fresh basil, chopped (or just a sprinkle of dried basil if that’s what you’ve got—it’s no big deal)
Red pepper flakes, optional (my husband skips, I add extra)

Let’s Make This: Directions (But Not Too Serious)

Heat the olive oil in the biggest skillet you’ve got over a medium flame. Add the chicken that’s been generously salted and peppered. Get a bit of brown on all sides—takes about 5 or 6 minutes. Don’t fret if the bits stick a little, that’s flavor, not failure.
Toss in your garlic and thyme. Sizzle for a minute until it smells terrific (I always breathe this in… don’t skip that part, it’s half the fun).
Now the sun-dried tomatoes go in. Stir ’em up. This is the part that’ll make your kitchen smell like a fancy restaurant. Don’t worry if it looks oily right now; it always sorts itself out.
Turn down the heat and pour in cream and broth. Scrape the bottom a bit. Let it bubble gently—it doesn’t need to be volcanic, just bubbly. I usually sneak a taste here; sometimes it’s missing a pinch of salt. Go with your gut.
While that’s simmering, cook the tortellini according to package instructions (I always forget to salt this water—maybe you’ll remember). Drain but don’t stress about getting every drip of water off, a bit left behind is good for the sauce anyway.
Stir parmesan into the sauce. Watch it transform into gloriousness (this is where it looks a little weird, give it a second). Actually, I think it tastes better with extra cheese so I always toss some on top. Fold in the cooked tortellini—gently, so you don’t squash them like sad little pillows.
Now the basil and, if you’re brave, a sprinkle of red pepper. Swirl it together. Stick your face over the pan and inhale. Try not to eat it all with a spoon right there like I do.

What I’ve Learned (From Messing Up)

If the sauce gets too thick, a splash of pasta water or extra broth usually saves it. I learned this the hard way with a cheesy brick one Thursday night.
Frozen tortellini work, but give them a minute longer than the package says, or you’ll get weirdly chewy bits.
I’ve used leftover rotisserie chicken—yes, it’s less fancy, but takes barely any time. Actually, on second thought, it might even be easier.

Things I’ve Tried (And, Uh, Sometimes Failed)

Swapping spinach tortellini for cheese-filled—delicious, though the green looks a bit odd in the cream sauce (my youngest called it “Shrek pasta”).
Adding mushrooms sounded genius in my head, but they fought with the sun-dried tomatoes and lost. Would not repeat.
I once tossed in a splash of white wine. Tasted posh, but next time I might use less—almost overwhelmed everything.

Stuff You’ll Need (And Clever Fixes If You Don’t Have It)

Big nonstick skillet or any deep-ish pan—my friend Rachel uses a Dutch oven, works too
A colander or just a big slotted spoon for draining pasta; in a pinch, I’ve even used a pasta server to scoop out the tortellini one by one (tedious, but gets the job done)
Chopping board and knife unless you like the rustic, tear-with-your-hands approach

How to Store It (Though It Hardly Matters)

If you have leftovers—it’s rare in my house, maybe fate conspires against it—they go in a lidded container in the fridge for up to two days. The sauce thickens up; I tend to splash in a tablespoon of broth or water before reheating. And honestly, I tend to think it tastes better the next day, but that could just be nostalgia talking, who knows?

How I Like to Serve This

So, this is probably unorthodox, but we pile it into soup bowls and serve with crusty bread—a bit like a pasta stew, almost. Sometimes there’s a green salad, sometimes it’s just the salad in my dreams because who has time? My cousin dumps more parmesan on top (and then apologizes, as if she needs to), and I reach for black pepper instead.

Lessons Learned in the Trenches (A.K.A. Pro Tips)

I once tried rushing the sauce by cranking heat way up—disaster. The cream split and tasted weirdly sweet. Slow and steady is your mate here.
Don’t skip the sun-dried tomatoes. I know they sound optional but they bring the zip—otherwise, it’s a bit bland.
Tortellini can go from “al dente” to “mushy blob” in ninety seconds. Seriously, set a timer or you’ll be sorry. Trust me, I speak form experience.

FAQ From the Real World, For Real People

“Can I use a different pasta?”
Oh sure. I’ve plonked the sauce onto penne, even gnocchi once. Still good, but tortellini is a bit more special (maybe it’s the cheese stuffing).

“Is there a lighter version?”
You could use half-and-half or even that plant-based stuff, but the sauce isn’t quite as dreamy. Don’t expect magic—but it still works for weeknights.

“What’s a good side?”
Bread! (Always bread.) Or roasted green beans if you want a veggie, but nobody’s mad if you skip it.

“Can I make it ahead?”
Yeah, but honestly, the tortellini soaks up sauce as it sits. Reheat gently and maybe add broth. Best the day of, in my humble (sometimes wrong) opinion.

“How spicy is it?”
Not spicy as written, the red pepper flakes are strictly up to your taste (I go for a pinch; my mom skips them entirely).

Anyway, if you ever make Marry Me Chicken Tortellini for a date night, I’d love to know if it lives up to the name—so far my only feedback is a lot of empty plates and the occasional marriage proposal for seconds!

Marry Me Chicken Tortellini