By First Easter without Baba. I am writing this at midnight, still smelling like smoke and lamb and lemon, my right arm aching from eight hours of turning the spit. I did it. I turned the lamb the way Yia-yia Despina taught me — slow, steady, basting every thirty minutes with lemon and olive oil and herbs. Alexander helped for the first two hours, then his attention wandered to his phone, which I forgave because he is sixteen and eight hours is forever at sixteen. Sophia sat on the back steps and watched and said nothing, which is the most Greek thing my daughter has ever done.
Mama came down from Tarpon Springs. She sat in a lawn chair in my Tampa backyard — the same kind of chair Baba used to sit in — and she watched the lamb and said nothing. Eight hours. This woman who has an opinion about everything sat in silence and watched a lamb turn because the person who was supposed to be in that chair was dead and the words for that had not been invented yet in any language, not even Greek.
The lamb was perfect. I say this without modesty because false modesty about food is a sin against olive oil. The skin was crispy and caramelized, the meat falling off the bone, the herbs and lemon and garlic creating that flavor that smells like every Easter of my childhood. We ate in the backyard — Mama, Dimitri and family, Alexander, Sophia, a few of Baba's old friends who came because Easter without a Papadopoulos table felt wrong. We ate and drank and someone told a story about Baba arguing with the priest about blessing a sponge boat, and everyone laughed, and then everyone went quiet.
I saved a plate for Baba. I set it on the kitchen counter — lamb, potatoes, salad, tsoureki — and left it there all night. In the morning I threw it away and cried. Not because of the food. Because of the hands that would never eat it. The hands that built the bakery, dove for sponges, clapped me on the shoulder when I graduated college even though he had not wanted me to go. Those hands will never hold a fork again, and I set a plate for them anyway, because Greek women set plates for the dead.
Next year I will turn the lamb again. And the year after. And every year until my arms cannot do it anymore. This is my inheritance. Not money, not property. A spit, a fire, and eight hours of stubborn love roasted slow over coals that glow like the hearts of everyone who ever fed me.
Setting that plate on the counter — lamb, potatoes, tsoureki — and throwing it away in the morning was the hardest thing I did that week, and it made me certain I would be back at the spit the following Easter, and every one after that. Baba’s hands built the fire and worked the rub and turned the crank, and now those gestures belong to me, which means I have no choice but to do them right. But not every night calls for a whole lamb on a spit. Some nights you need something smaller, something you can hold in your hands while you sit on the porch and let the quiet settle around you. These cheesesteak potato skins are that kind of food — steak and melted cheese spooned into a crispy shell, the sort of thing Baba would have eaten standing up at the counter, one hand on my shoulder, telling me to add more pepper.
Cheesesteak Potato Skins
Prep Time: 40 min | Cook Time: 1 hr 15 min | Total Time: 1 hr 55 min | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 4 large Russet potatoes, scrubbed well
- Canola oil
- 1 lb prime rib, thinly sliced and chopped into small pieces (or you can use sliced beef round)
- 1 tbsp olive oil
- Salt and pepper, to taste
- 1/2 yellow onion, thinly sliced
- Green bell pepper and/or mushrooms, sliced, OPTIONAL*
- 4 slices provolone cheese
- 8 oz creamy havarti cheese
- I recommend serving with a mixture of sriracha and ketchup*
Instructions
- Preheat. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.
- Prep the potatoes. Place potatoes onto a baking sheet.
- Oil the potatoes. Brush potatoes liberally with canola oil.
- Bake. Bake the potatoes for about 1 hour.
- Cool and reheat. Let the potatoes cool for about 30 minutes. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.
- Hollow them out. Cut each potato in half, lengthwise. Scoop out the majority of the potato with a spoon, leaving a layer above the skin.
- Crisp the skins. Generously brush the potato skins with oil again. Place in the oven, skin-side up, for another 5 minutes. Then flip, brush with oil, and place in the oven for an additional 5 minutes.
- Start the steak. While the potatoes bake, make the steak.
- Cook the onions. Heat griddle or pan over medium-high heat. Saute the onions in olive oil until soft and translucent.
- Cook the steak. Add the steak and saute until cooked to your liking. Season with salt and pepper.
- Fill and top. Remove the potato skins from the oven and fill them with the steak. Top with some of the havarti and then tear up the provolone and place on top. Heat the broiler to low.
- Broil and serve. Place the filled potato skins under the broiler for a minute, or until the cheese is melted. Serve immediately with your choice of dip.
Nutrition (per serving)
Nutrition information not available for this recipe.