Chili Lime Steak Bites

The humidity here isn't D.C. humidity — I wrote Mom that D.C. was like breathing through a wet towel, and Colorado is drier, thinner, the air doing less. It's the altitude. Six thousand feet. My lungs notice. The leg notices too — PT is harder when the air has less to give you. But the sky. God, the sky. It's not Montana sky — nothing is Montana sky — but it's closer. It's wider than anything in D.C. and it has weather in it, real weather, thunderstorms that build over the mountains in the afternoon and come down the Front Range like they have somewhere to be. I stood outside Thursday and watched lightning hit Pikes Peak and it was the first beautiful thing I've seen in four months.

Dr. Mercer says the discharge paperwork is moving. Medical evaluation board. Weeks, not months. She says this gently, like she's delivering bad news, and I realize she thinks I want to stay. I don't correct her because the truth is more complicated than I can say in her office: I don't want to stay and I don't want to leave and I don't know what I want because wanting things requires a kind of forward-looking that my brain isn't doing yet. My brain does two things: the road, and right now. Nothing in between. Nothing ahead.

I found a charcoal grill behind the recreation building. Nobody uses it — it's rusted, the grate is warped, and there's an inch of old ash in the belly. I cleaned it out Saturday. Took me an hour. Scraped the grate with a wire brush I borrowed from maintenance, dumped the ash, got it functional. I didn't cook on it. Didn't have anything to cook. But I built a fire in it. Just charcoal and a match and the smoke going up into the Colorado evening and I stood there and watched it burn and it was the first fire I've built since before Afghanistan and my hands knew exactly what to do even when the rest of me has forgotten how to do most things.

I'm going to cook on that grill. I'll figure out the supply situation — commissary, maybe, or the grocery in town if I can get a ride. A steak. Nothing else. Charcoal, salt, steak, fire. That's the recipe. That's all the recipe there is. I'll stand there in the evening with the mountains and the lightning and the smoke and I'll cook a steak and eat it alone and that will be something. Colleen would say that's something. Dad would say nothing, which also means it's something. It's something.

That fire in the grill was supposed to be a plain steak and nothing else — charcoal, salt, meat, done. But when it came time to actually cook, my hands that remembered how to build a fire also remembered that food is more than fuel, and I found myself reaching for the chili powder and lime without really deciding to. The spice felt right somehow, something with a little heat and brightness, something that said I’m still here and I’m still trying. So here’s what I actually made.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 1–2

Ingredients

1 lb sirloin or ribeye steak, cut into 1 1/2-inch cubes
1 tbsp olive oil or neutral oil
1 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp coarse black pepper
1/2 tsp chili powder
1/4 tsp smoked paprika
1/4 tsp garlic powder
Juice of 1 lime
Optional: pinch of cayenne for heat

Instructions

Light the charcoal. Build a full chimney of charcoal. Let it burn until the coals are ashed over and glowing orange — about 20 minutes. Pour coals into the grill and let the grate heat for 5 minutes before cooking.
Season the steak. Toss the steak cubes in oil, then add salt, pepper, chili powder, smoked paprika, and garlic powder. Coat evenly. Let rest at room temperature while the coals come up to heat.
Grill over direct heat. Lay steak bites directly on the hot grate. Cook 2–3 minutes per side, turning once, until you have a dark sear and the internal temperature reads 130–135°F for medium-rare.
Rest and finish. Pull the steak off the grill and let it rest 3–4 minutes. Squeeze fresh lime juice over the top just before eating.
Eat outside. Plate is optional. Standing is fine.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chili Lime Steak Bites — Salt, Fire, and Something to Stand On