Does anyone else feel like this month has been a year long?
It’s hard to believe how much has changed in such a short amount of time.
I don’t know about you, but all of those changes have had an
effect. I haven’t felt much like cooking the last few weeks, and even less like
writing (perfectly evidenced by the fact that it took me about four days to
summon even that sentence). I’m privileged to still be working, but between
work and stress, it feels like my creativity has run dry. I just don’t know
where to start or what to say.
On the days when life leaves me with little inspiration or
time to reflect, there are a few dishes that I fall back on, meals that I’ve
made so many times that they take almost no thought. This salad is one of
those. For years, it’s been my go-to “I’m out of meal planning ideas”
and the thing I crave when I return from deployments. Lately, it’s been lunch
or dinner on several occasions. It’s comfort food with little prep time, little
cook time, and a short ingredient list. It’s a suggestion of a meal for
difficult days.
A Salad Suggestion
for Difficult Days
Source: I Thought There Would Be Free Food
Serves: As many people as you want
Active time: 30 minutes
Note: For a one-person salad, I like three or four kale leaves and a good handful of arugula. It’s easily scaled to feed as many as needed.
Ingredients:
Kale (I prefer lacinto)
Arugula
Nuts (my favorite are pecans, but walnuts and
hazelnuts are also delicious)
Avocado
A wedge of lemon or lemon juice
Olive oil
Salt and pepper, to taste
Directions:
Rinse, de-rib (save those
stems!) and chop the kale. I like to chop it into fairly small bits, around
1/2-inch squared, because I am an inelegant salad eater and this relieves quite
a bit of my “is a leaf hanging out of my mouth” anxiety. Chop the
arugula, too, and toss both greens together in a bowl.
Heat
a skillet over medium heat. While it’s heating, coarsely chop the nuts, then
add them to the pan when it’s warm. Toast the nuts until they’re golden brown
and fragrant. This will likely take 5–10 minutes.
Meanwhile,
dress however much kale and arugula you feel like eating with some lemon juice.
Give it a good toss. Cut as much avocado as you’d like and set it aside.
Once
the nuts have finished toasting, add as many as you’d like onto your salad.
Drizzle with olive oil and toss everything together. Garnish with avocado and
salt and pepper, to taste.
Few foods are as synonymous with a place as pot roast is
with the Midwest. It was ubiquitous in the middle-class Christian milieu I grew
up in, so much that I would almost guarantee that on any given night, someone
within a five-mile radius of my family’s home was making it. Pot roast is
Midwest through and through, and for years I ate it without every giving it
much thought.
I was hardly alone in my lack of attention to Midwestern
food. It seems to be that most food writers don’t think about the Midwest either,
unless they’re making fun of it. The Midwest is to American cooking what
Britain is to European cuisine—a joke or something that sustains you, but
nothing to praise. Think about it: almost every other regional cuisine has had
its moment (see: the
South, the
Southwest, California,
and the
Pacific Northwest), but Midwest cooking seems to be as much of a culinary
flyover as the physical states themselves.
I think I know why this is. Midwest food is seen as
unexciting and unsexy; it’s the type of food that your grandmother made and few
people want to think about their grandmother as being sexy. It lacks the
Southwest’s spices or anything to do with avocados; the American culinary
narrative is definitive about what Midwestern food is not. What I want to do is
talk about what Midwest food is: ingenious,
low-intensity ways to turn economy into abundance. Take pot roast, for example.
The dish uses relatively inexpensive ingredients—a chuck-eye roast, root
vegetables—and requires a minimal amount of prep time but yields just-firm
vegetables and fork-tender meat. Call me crazy, call me unsophisticated, but I
think that’s something worth boasting about, and maybe even an example of a
cuisine whose moment is overdue.
1 or 2 boneless chuck-eye roasts, totaling 3
1/2–4 pounds
Kitchen twine (optional)
Vegetable oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1 small carrot, chopped
1 stick of celery, chopped
2 medium garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons sugar
1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1 cup low-sodium beef broth
Salt and black pepper, to taste
1/2–1 cup water
1 1/2 pounds red potatoes, scrubbed and cut in
half if larger than 1 1/2-inchs in diameter
1 1/2 pounds carrots and/or parsnips, scrubbed
and cut into sticks
1/4 cup dry red wine
1 sprig fresh rosemary
Directions:
Put an oven rack in the middle of your oven,
then preheat it to 300°F.
While the oven is warming up, take a look at
your meat. If there are clear chunks of fat running through it—not marbling,
which is good, but big veins of it—I like to cut out the majority of the fat.
If you can do this while keeping the roast in one piece, do that;
alternatively, you can cut the roast into smaller pieces as you trim it. The
final product won’t present as nicely, if you’re planning to carve it at the
table, but it will still be delicious.
If desired, use the twine to tie your roast into
a neat package. This isn’t necessary, but it will keep the roast from falling
apart while it cooks.
Set a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When
it’s hot, add enough oil to lightly coat the bottom. Add the roast and sear on
each side until its nicely browned. You may need to do this in batches, if you
cut your roast into pieces or have more than one.
Pro tip:
Adjust the heat as necessary so that the oil doesn’t get too hot and set off
your smoke alarm. I speak from personal experience here people.
Once the roast is browned, remove it to a plate
and set aside. Reduce the heat under the Dutch oven and add a splash more veg
oil, if needed, before tossing in the onion, carrot, and celery. Cook, stirring
and scraping up any bits of fond from the bottom of the pot, until the onion is
turning translucent and the vegetables have softened a bit.
Add the garlic and sugar and sauté for 30
seconds or so. Pour in the broths and stir, scraping up any additional bits of
beef that might be stuck to the pot. Season the liquid with salt and pepper to
taste.
Put the roast back in and add as much water as
needed for the liquid to come halfway up the roast (I only needed about 1/2
cup). Bring everything to a simmer, then cover the pot with the lid and put the
whole thing in the oven.
Cook the roast, turning it every 30–60 minutes,
until a knife inserted into the meat meets little resistance, about 3 1/2–4
hours. Remove the roast from the oven and take off the lid. If you’re picky
about this type of thing, this is an excellent time to strain out the
vegetables that were flavoring the cooking liquid. I quite like leaving them
in, so I just go ahead and…
Add the vegetables. Depending on how full your
pot is, you may need to take the meat out or just move it from side-to-side
while you do so.
Once you’ve added the veg, put the meat back in,
if you took it out, pour in the wine, add the sprig of rosemary, and carefully
taste the broth to see whether it has enough salt and pepper. Adjust if
necessary.
Recover the pot and return it to the oven. Cook
for another 30 minutes or so, until the vegetables are tender but not mushy.
Remove the roast from the oven. You can dish up
straight from the pot, or if you’re feeling fancy, you can put the roast on a
cutting board and tent it with foil for a few minutes. Scoop out the vegetables
and put them in a serving bowl, ladling a little extra cooking liquid over
them. Carve the meat—which really should be more along the lines of pulling it
apart with two forks—and put it in another serving dish, again ladling a little
of the stock over them, before serving.
Note:
Pot roast makes excellent leftovers. If you have extra meat, I highly suggest
using it as a base in tacos or enchiladas.