Alright, so I need to be honest right out of the gate: Easy chicken pot pie is sort of my culinary comfort blanket. There was this tragic Tuesday evening awhile back where I forgot (entirely!) that I’d volunteered to feed half my family plus a random neighbor kid after soccer, and this recipe totally bailed me out. Seriously, nothing like chicken and veggies in a flaky crust to make you feel like you sorta have your act together. I’ll warn you—I have strong feelings about peas, but more on that later. And by the way, if you hear a cat meowing in the background while you’re reading this… that’s just my kitchen life in a nutshell.

Why You’ll Love This (or at Least, Why I Keep Making It)

I make this when I crave something warm and stress-free but still want to feel gently smug for ‘cooking from scratch’ (cheater crusts totally count in my book). My family genuinely cheers for pot pie night, though granted, they’ll eat just about anything with pie crust on top. It’s cozy, fills the house with that heartwarming “I live here!” smell. And honestly, even my picky eater child will demolish this (as long as I remember to hide the peas—sorry, I warned you). The only mild annoyance is wrestling with a rogue rolling pin, but no one needs to know how lopsided my crusts can get.

Gather Your Stuff: The Ingredients List

2 cups cooked chicken, shredded or just chopped up (rotisserie chicken’s a weeknight godsend here—no shame, ever)
1 bag (around 12 ounces) frozen mixed veggies—peas and carrots are classic, but sometimes I go with corn and green beans if that’s lurking in my freezer
1/3 cup butter (my grandma swore by salted, but I toss in whatever’s in the fridge)
1 small onion, diced up fine—or skip it if that’s someone’s nemesis at your table
1/3 cup all-purpose flour (I tried whole wheat one time and… well, let’s not go there)
1 3/4 cups chicken broth (boxed is fine, homemade if you’re feeling heroic)
2/3 cup milk (regular, oat, almond—anything fairly neutral works, but coconut milk got me some weird looks, FYI!)
Salt and black pepper, to taste—I like a decent hit of both
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme or Italian seasoning (optional but excellent)
1 package ready-made pie crusts (the refrigerated kind, unboxed with zero guilt)

Optional: Add garlic, swap turkey for chicken after Thanksgiving, or sneak a dash of hot sauce if your crowd’s into that sort of thing.

How I Actually Throw It Together

Preheat your oven to 425°F (220°C if you’re metric-minded) and set out your favorite pie dish—or any roughly 9-inch-ish casserole thing, honestly.
Melt butter in a medium saucepan over medium, which sounds fancy, but I just wing it till it’s bubbly. Chuck in diced onion and cook it till it’s soft-ish; mine always turns a bit brown here, but nobody complains.
Stir in the flour—yes, all at once—and stir for about a minute, resisting the urge to walk away for a second to answer a text. It’ll get a bit pasty; don’t worry, that’s good.
Now, pour in the chicken broth and milk, whisking while muttering about lumps (they almost always smooth out after a few stern stirs). Bring it to a low simmer till you’ve got a thickish sauce. This is where I usually sneak a taste just to make sure it doesn’t need, I don’t know, a spoonful of salt or a smidge more pepper.
Turn off the heat, toss in your chicken and veggies, sprinkle the herbs and more salt and pepper. Stir it all up; honestly, if it looks kinda weird at this stage, it somehow works out perfectly in the oven.
Unroll your pie crust (cheerfully ignoring the cracks—patching is allowed), and fit it into your dish. Pour in your filling and top it with a second crust. Pinch the edges all fancy, or just squish it down. Cut a couple vents for steam (I once forgot this part—a little pie soup overflowed; lesson learned).
Bake on the middle rack till the crust looks golden—around 30-35 minutes. If the crust edges start looking burnt, just throw some foil around them (not at the beginning, trust me—only if needed).
Let it sit, tempting as it is, for at least 10 minutes before digging in—burnt tongues are tragic but preventable.

Notes from My Notebooks (AKA Misadventures)

If you use too many veggies, it’ll overflow and weld itself to your oven—personally tested this for you.
Rotisserie chicken saves loads of time, but leftover grilled chicken actually tastes even better, though I rarely have enough left to prove it.
If you like a super thick sauce, let it bubble a little longer. (I tend to think it’s better just a bit runny; next day leftovers, if you’re lucky, go more solid anyway.)

What If You Want to Experiment? (My Trials, Errors and Wins)

One time I used puff pastry for the top instead of pie crust—super buttery and fancy-looking, just don’t try for bottom AND top pastry, unless you like soggy bottoms (Mary Berry would not approve).
Vegetarian version? Yep, just amp up the mushrooms and sneak in some extra spices—maybe a bit of smoked paprika. Didn’t fool my dad though (he insists everything needs ‘more something’).
Tried a biscuit topping once; it was okay, but it felt more like a stew with biscuits. Not really pot pie, in my book.

As for Tools: Just Use What You’ve Got

Technically you want a pie dish and a rolling pin, but I’ve totally used a casserole dish and just patted dough by hand. No rolling pin? Wine bottle (full or empty) is your new best friend. Check out The Kitchn’s clever alternatives if you want some creative ideas.

How Long Does This Last? (Not Long, Honestly)

You can stash leftovers in a container in the fridge up to three days—though honestly, in my house it never lasts more than a day! If you reheat it, try the oven instead of microwaving; the crust stays crisper. Sometimes I eat it cold; maybe don’t do that when company’s over.

How Do We Serve It? My Two Cents

I usually scoop generous hunks onto plates with a green salad (if anyone protests, they get extra pie). Occasionally I add cranberry sauce if there’s some left form, I don’t know, another meal. Once I did a side of mashed potatoes for true carb excess—heavenly, if ill-advised.

Pro Tips—Learned the Hard Way

If you try to rush the sauce step and don’t let it thicken, you’ll end up with chicken soup. Delicious, but not pot pie.
Don’t skimp on vent cuts in the crust. I once had the whole thing bubble over and glue itself to the rack. Lesson: Pies are vengeful if you ignore the steam.
On second thought, take an extra minute just to check the salt—once, mine was bland and my family hasn’t let me live it down.

Real Questions I Actually Get (with Dubious Wisdom)

Can I use something besides pie crust?: Certainly! I’ve used puff pastry, biscuit dough, even crescent rolls—though each gives a different vibe. Find what’s languishing in your fridge.
Do I have to cook the chicken first?: Absolutely. Trust me, raw chicken doesn’t magically cook just from being baked in the pie (learned that as a distracted teenager). Rotisserie is a lifesaver.
Can I freeze this?: Yep—assemble, freeze before baking. Just add a few extra minutes in the oven. Here’s more about freezing pies from Sally’s Baking Addiction.
Have you ever tried adding cheese?: Actually, yes! Even though it might not be traditional, a handful of shredded cheddar in the filling is magic. But, don’t go overboard or it’s more like a casserole.

Digression: Did you know the first time I ever made pot pie, I tried to use a cake pan because I didn’t own a pie dish? It… kind of worked. Only slightly disastrous. Anyway, if you give this a go, let me know—I’d love to hear what wild substitutions (or mistakes) you make.

And if you need more easy comfort food options, Simply Recipes’ chicken and rice casserole is a classic too. We all need backup plans.