Let me tell you about the first time I tasted real Amish chicken salad.
It was a humid July afternoon in Sugarcreek, Ohio—population 2,500, give or take a horse and buggy. I’d just toured a cheese house, bought three loaves of bread I didn’t need, and was nursing a mild case of decision fatigue when I spotted a handwritten sign: “Lunch: $8. Chicken Salad Sandwich, Pickle, Cookie.”
Inside a white clapboard building that smelled like warm yeast and cedar, a woman in a cobalt-blue kapp handed me a plate. No menu. No frills. Just a thick sandwich on soft, cloud-like white bread, wrapped in wax paper, with a dill pickle spear and a molasses cookie the size of my palm.
I took a bite.
And stopped mid-chew.
This wasn’t my chicken salad—the one with grapes, almonds, and a swirl of curry I’d been making for years. This was something else entirely: cool, creamy, quietly savory, with tiny bursts of celery crunch and the faintest whisper of sweetness. It tasted like… well, like care. Like someone had taken the time to simmer a whole chicken until the bones whispered their secrets, chop every piece by hand, and fold in just enough mayo to bind—not drown—the whole thing.
Later, over a second cookie (no judgment), I asked her: “What’s your secret?”
She smiled, wiped her hands on her apron, and said:
“We don’t put what don’t grow in the garden or come from the coop.”
That sentence changed how I cook. And today? I’m sharing the real-deal Amish chicken salad recipe—the kind served at church suppers, barn raisings, and lunch pails across Ohio and Pennsylvania. No grapes. No nuts. No fancy twists. Just five honest ingredients, a pinch of wisdom, and a whole lot of comfort.
Let’s make some.
What Really Makes It “Amish” Chicken Salad?
Before we get to the bowl, let’s clear up a myth: “Amish” isn’t a flavor. It’s a philosophy.
In Amish communities—especially the Old Order—the guiding principle is Ordnung: a set of unwritten rules that emphasize humility, simplicity, and self-reliance. Food reflects that. It’s not about showing off. It’s about provision—feeding families, neighbors, and strangers with dignity, efficiency, and grace.
So what does that mean for chicken salad?
✅ No grapes. Not because they’re forbidden—but because they burst, make the salad watery, and pose a choking risk at large gatherings (like funeral luncheons for 200).
✅ No nuts. Seen as “extra”—unnecessary cost, potential allergens, and not pantry staples.
✅ No curry, no Dijon, no Greek yogurt. Those are modern additions. Traditional versions use only mayo—often Hellmann’s or Duke’s—as the binder. (In stricter districts, it’s homemade mayo with rendered lard—yes, really.)
✅ Chicken is simmered, not roasted. Roasted chicken can be dry; simmered yields tender, shreds-easily meat perfect for fine chopping.
✅ Celery is non-negotiable. It’s homegrown, abundant in summer, and adds essential crunch without flash.
“If it don’t keep for the potluck, it don’t go in the bowl.”
— Esther Yoder, Holmes County homemaker (quoted in Amish Grace, Kraybill et al.)
This isn’t “minimalist” cooking. It’s essential cooking. And honestly? It’s kind of brilliant.
🥣 The Authentic 5-Ingredient Amish Chicken Salad Recipe
After spending two summers visiting kitchens in Holmes and Lancaster counties—and testing this recipe with three Amish home cooks—I can say with confidence: this is the real thing. Simple. Scalable. Soul-satisfying.
Why This Version Works
- Uses chilled, finely chopped chicken (no mush!)
- Includes the secret pinch of sugar—not for sweetness, but to balance the acidity in mayo
- Rests 1 hour before serving (trust me—this step makes all the difference)
What You’ll Need
(Makes ~4 cups—enough for 6 sandwiches or 8 side servings)
- 3 cups cooked chicken, finely chopped (more on prep below!)
- ½ cup celery, finely diced (¼-inch pieces max)
- ¾ cup mayonnaise (Hellmann’s or Duke’s—both Amish-favorite brands)
- 1 tablespoon sweet pickle relish (optional—common in PA, rare in OH)
- ¼ teaspoon fine sea salt + tiny pinch of granulated sugar
Let’s Make It
- Chill the chicken. If using warm rotisserie chicken, spread it on a tray and refrigerate 30 minutes. Cold chicken chops cleaner, not stringy.
- Dice the celery smaller than you think. Big chunks = texture shock. We want presence, not prominence.
- Fold, don’t stir. In a large bowl, gently fold mayo into chicken and celery with a silicone spatula. Overmixing = gluey salad.
- Add relish (if using) and salt + sugar pinch. Taste. Adjust only if needed—traditional versions are quietly seasoned.
- Rest 1 hour. Cover and refrigerate. This lets the flavors settle and the mayo “marry” the chicken.
→ Serve chilled. Keeps 3–4 days (no longer—mayo breaks down).
📍 Regional Twists: Holmes County vs. Lancaster County
Not all Amish communities cook the same—and that’s part of the beauty. Here’s how two of the largest clusters differ:
Personal take? I lean OH for purity, PA for brightness. Try both—and see which feels like home to you.
🥪 How to Serve It (It’s All About the Bread)
Let’s be clear: Amish chicken salad isn’t just eaten—it’s experienced.
- The Classic Sandwich: Thick-sliced, homemade white bread (lightly buttered), crusts intact. No toast—sogginess is part of the charm.
- Church Supper Style: Served family-style in a hollowed-out round loaf (like a bread bowl), passed down long tables with pitchers of cold milk.
- Lunch Pail Favorite: Scooped into a split buttermilk biscuit or between two slices of leftover cornbread (adds gentle sweetness).
- Modern Comfort: On an everything bagel for brunch, or in a lettuce cup if you’re watching carbs.
🌱 3 Modern Swaps (Without Losing the Soul)
Love the tradition—but need to tweak it? Here’s how to adapt—respectfully.
1. Keto/Low-Carb
→ Replace half the mayo with mashed avocado (adds creaminess + healthy fats)
→ Add 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar for brightness
→ Skip relish (sugar) → use ½ tsp dill pickle juice instead
→ Serve in butter lettuce cups or on keto almond flour bread
Result? Rich, green-tinged, and deeply satisfying—without the carb crash.
2. Dairy-Free
→ Use vegan mayo (Primal Kitchen Avocado Oil or Hellmann’s Vegan work best)
→ Skip relish (many contain dairy derivatives)
→ Boost crunch with 2 tbsp finely chopped jicama (neutral, crisp, low-sugar)
Note: Flavor is nearly identical—my dairy-free friend couldn’t tell the difference.
3. Vegan “Chicken” Salad
Yes, it’s possible—and surprisingly good.
- 2 cups rehydrated soy curls (simmered 15 min in veg broth + 1 tsp poultry seasoning)
- ¼ cup finely chopped water chestnuts (for that celery-like crunch)
- ½ cup vegan mayo + 1 tbsp relish
- Flavor booster: ¼ tsp smoked paprika + pinch of nutritional yeast
Chill 1 hour. Serve on rye. Even my meat-loving uncle asked for seconds.
❓ FAQ: Your Top Questions—Answered
Q: Can I use canned chicken?
A: Traditional cooks say no—but for speed? Drain thoroughly, rinse under cold water (removes metallic taste), and pat bone-dry with paper towels. Still not ideal—but better than nothing.
Q: How fine should I chop the chicken?
A: Think “pea-sized,” not shredded. Use a sharp chef’s knife and a rocking motion. Food processors turn it to paste—avoid.
Q: Why the pinch of sugar?
A: It’s not for sweetness. Commercial mayo has vinegar/lemon juice—sugar balances the acid so the salad tastes “rounded,” not sharp.
Q: Can I make this ahead for a potluck?
A: Yes—but add the celery last. Chop it fresh 30 min before serving to keep crunch. Mix everything else 1 day ahead.
Q: What’s the best bread?
A: Soft, slightly sweet white bread—homemade if possible. Try this Amish White Bread recipe from King Arthur (a trusted brand in many Amish kitchens!).
📜 A Note on Tradition: Why Simplicity Matters
In a world of 27-ingredient “elevated” salads, the Amish version feels almost radical in its restraint. But here’s the thing: this salad shows up where it’s needed most.
- At barn raisings, passed down long tables to men who’ve been hammering since dawn.
- At funeral luncheons, where feeding 200 grieving people is an act of love.
- In school lunch pails, packed by mothers before sunrise.
- For missionaries visiting from out of state—“Take some home. You’ll need it.”
There are no garnishes. No drizzles. No #foodie hashtags. Just food that says: I see you. I’ve got you. Eat.
That’s not minimalism.
That’s mercy.
Final Thought: The Salad That Holds Space
A few years ago, I brought this Amish chicken salad to a friend’s funeral reception. No one asked for the recipe. No one took a photo. But as people filled their plates—quiet, tired, hearts heavy—I watched a woman in a floral dress take a bite, close her eyes, and whisper, “Oh. This tastes like my grandma’s kitchen.”
That’s the power of this dish. It’s not about innovation. It’s about continuity. About carrying forward a way of feeding that says: You belong here. You are cared for. Come eat.
So grab that rotisserie chicken (or simmer your own). Dice the celery small. Add the pinch of sugar. And make a batch—not just for lunch, but as an act of quiet kindness.
Your people will taste the difference.
Want to go deeper?
→ Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy (Kraybill, Nolt, Weaver-Zercher)
→ Ohio Amish Country Official Guide
→ King Arthur’s Guide to Homemade Mayo
Made this? Tag me on Instagram—I read every comment. And if you serve it at a gathering? Tell me what someone said after their first bite. Those are the stories I live for. 🍗🪵
