Salt the water. Salt it more than you think—you’re seasoning the pasta itself, not the ocean. Cook until it’s a bit underdone because it’ll sit in the sauce later. Drain it. Save some pasta water—like half a mug. I always forget but try not to.

Dry the chicken with paper towels. Cajun seasoning goes on. Add salt, pepper. Rub it in. Your hands will smell spicy and warm. It’s… good.

Oil + butter in a skillet. Medium-high heat. Put the chicken in when the butter sizzles. Don’t move it for a minute. Let it get color. Flip. Same deal.

If it looks dark on the edges, that’s fine. Cajun seasoning browns fast.

Take the chicken out. Let it rest. Don’t slice it yet. Juices need to settle.

Same pan—don’t clean it, that leftover flavor is gold.

Butter in.

Onions go in. They soften, they go translucent. Don’t let them burn.

Garlic in. Smells strong immediately. Good.

Bell peppers. Cook till they soften just a little. I like some bites left.

Add broth first. Stir to scrape up the browned bits. Those bits are half the flavor, trust me.

Pour in cream. Slowly. Stir.

It’ll turn a soft orange-ish color from the Cajun rub left in the pan.

Add paprika. Add cayenne if you feel brave or tired or both.

Let it simmer. Not boil—cream hates boiling.

When the sauce thickens slightly, add parmesan. It melts and the whole thing just… becomes something else entirely. Richer. Fuller.

Now slice. You’ll see it stayed juicy. If not, well, that’s why sauce exists.

Pasta goes in. Stir gently. Don’t break the noodles, they did nothing to you.

Chicken goes back in. Toss. Taste. Season again.

Add a splash of pasta water if the sauce gets clingy in a bad way.

Add lemon. Just a quick squeeze. Don’t overdo it.

This sounds unnecessary but trust me—it helps the sauce settle and coat everything properly.

And that’s it. You’ll probably take a bite before plating. We all do.