Crispy Greek Lemon Smashed Potatoes

Late April. Diego had his official visit to Colorado State on Friday. The football staff hosted us. We drove up Friday morning — Diego, me, and Lisa, who took a vacation day to come along. The plan was a tour, a meeting with the position coach, a meeting with the head coach, a meeting with the academic advisor, lunch with the team, a tour of the facilities, an overnight stay with one of the players, and then the meeting Saturday morning where they would either offer the full ride that had been hinted at for two months or they would not.

The drive up was quiet. Diego was nervous in a way he had not been before any other school visit. He had visited Air Force, where I had wanted him to be more interested than he was. He had visited Wyoming, where he had liked the coaches but had been honest with me that the program was not where he wanted to be. He had visited New Mexico, which had been emotional for me — driving Diego onto the campus where I had played, walking past the practice fields where I had blown out my shoulder against Utah State, watching my son meet coaches who would have known me if they had been in Las Cruces in 1998 — and which had been an okay fit but not the right fit for Diego, who needed to be in Colorado, who wanted to play at a program that was on the rise rather than at a program with my history. Colorado State had been the favorite from the start. The visit was the formality. The offer, if it came, was the answer.

The position coach, a guy named Coach Ramos who has recruited Diego for two years and who treats him like a future starter, walked us through the position room. The whiteboard was filled with their offensive concepts. Diego asked good questions. The coach explained how Diego fit. They were honest about the depth chart — there were two upperclassmen ahead of him at his position, one of whom was likely to enter the portal at the end of the season, and Diego would have a chance to compete for playing time as a true freshman if he showed up in shape and ready to learn. Coach Ramos said, "Diego, if you commit to us, we are committing to you. That means academic support, a position coach who is going to develop you for four years, a strength program, and a clear path to playing time. You are going to be good here. You are going to graduate. You are going to be a man we are proud of." Diego nodded. Lisa held my hand under the table.

The head coach met with us at three. He talked about the program, the trajectory, the academic standards, the team culture, the way they recruit, what they expect from their players. He talked about Diego specifically — what he had seen on film, what he liked, where he saw growth. He looked at me at one point and said, "Coach Medina, I have to tell you, I have watched Diego on tape and I see your fingerprints all over his game. The footwork. The route discipline. The hands. You did the work. We get the benefit. That is how this is supposed to go." I said, "Thank you, Coach." He said, "And then he made the offer. Full ride. Five years of athletic and academic support. A path. Diego shook the head coach's hand. Lisa was crying. I was holding it together by a thread.

We left the meeting and walked across the parking lot. Diego stopped halfway to the truck. He turned around and looked at the football facility for about ten seconds. Then he looked at me and Lisa. He said, "I want to commit. Tomorrow. I want to call Coach Ramos tomorrow morning and commit." Lisa said, "Take the night to think." Diego said, "Mom, I have thought about it for two years. The night is not going to change anything." I said, "Take the night anyway. Just so you can say you did." He nodded. He took the night. The next morning at nine he called Coach Ramos and committed.

That afternoon, on the drive home, I told Diego the same thing I had told him at eighteen. "You're good. You're not great. There is no shame in that. Go get your degree." Diego said, "Dad, I have heard you say that for three years." I said, "I know. I am going to keep saying it." He said, "Why." I said, "Because your job is to be good and to be a student. Not to be a star. Stars get hurt and lose their identity. Good players who are also students get to choose what they want their life to be. I want you to have that choice." He nodded. He said, "Got it, Dad." He looked out the window. The plains rolled by. Lisa was asleep in the back seat. The truck rolled south on I-25 with my son's future in the passenger seat, signed and folded, the next chapter beginning.

Saturday night I grilled tri-tip on the back patio. Tri-tip is one of those cuts that I have come to late in my grilling career — it is a Santa Maria cut, central California, not New Mexican at all — but I have made peace with it because it is exactly the right cut for an after-the-good-news steak. Big enough for the whole family. Cooks in twenty minutes. Slices into thin pieces against the grain and feeds people fast and well. I rubbed it with kosher salt, black pepper, garlic powder, and a teaspoon of red chile powder for character. I grilled it over a hot two-zone fire — sear, then indirect, finishing at one-twenty-eight internal, then resting for ten minutes — and I sliced it on the cutting board while the family stood around the kitchen island.

Hayley came over. The twins were running. Sofia was reading a book at the table. Lisa was making a salad. Diego was telling the story of the visit to anyone who would listen. We ate. The tri-tip was perfect. Diego was about to be a Ram. The road bends. Feed your people. The game is won at the table. The game is also won in Fort Collins on a Friday afternoon when a coach signs your kid for four years. We are okay. We are okay.

The tri-tip was the main event—it always is when the news is that good—but a table full of family needs more than one thing on the plate, and I had about forty minutes before people started grazing. These Crispy Greek Lemon Smashed Potatoes were what I reached for: boil them, smash them, hit them with olive oil and lemon and oregano, and let the oven do the work while you tend the fire outside. They came out golden and crackling at the edges, finished with feta, and Diego ate three helpings. That felt about right.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 lbs baby Yukon Gold potatoes
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
4 cloves garlic, minced
Juice of 1 large lemon (about 3 tablespoons)
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for boiling water
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped
Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

Boil the potatoes. Place baby potatoes in a large pot and cover with cold salted water by at least an inch. Bring to a boil over high heat and cook until completely tender when pierced with a fork, about 18–20 minutes. Drain and let steam dry for 5 minutes.
Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 425°F. Drizzle 1 tablespoon of olive oil across a large rimmed baking sheet and spread to coat.
Smash the potatoes. Arrange the drained potatoes on the prepared baking sheet, spacing them out. Use the bottom of a heavy glass or a flat spatula to smash each potato down to about 1/2-inch thickness—you want them flat but still intact. They will crack at the edges; that is exactly what you want.
Season. In a small bowl, whisk together the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil, minced garlic, lemon juice, oregano, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Spoon or brush the mixture evenly over each smashed potato, making sure the garlic gets distributed.
Roast until crispy. Roast on the top rack of the oven for 22–25 minutes, until the edges are deeply golden and crisp. Do not flip them—let the bottoms develop a crust against the pan.
Finish and serve. Remove from the oven and immediately scatter crumbled feta and chopped parsley over the top. Serve directly from the pan with lemon wedges on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Crispy Greek Lemon Smashed Potatoes — The Side Dish That Finished a Perfect Night