Cubed Steaks Parmigiana

Easter at Mama's. We went to service at Greater Grace at 8 AM. Mama wore the same hat she's been wearing on Easter for twenty years. The whole family at her duplex for dinner — ham, mac and cheese, greens, sweet potatoes, dinner rolls. Lemon cake for dessert.

Pop's in the recliner. Tigers on. Sugar in range this week. Sunday at Mama's. She made greens with hambone the way she has since 1985.

Baked ziti this week. Sausage and ricotta. The dish that survives a freezer.

Aiden's 10. The youth basketball league. I'm coaching. He's the best player on the team and he knows it. Zaria's 7. Helps me cook on a step stool. Has opinions about the seasoning.

I called Mama Sunday night. She picked up on the second ring. She always picks up.

Mr. Williams across the street had a heart scare. He is okay. We are all watching each other now. I took him a plate of greens and chicken Wednesday. He said, "DeShawn. You're a good neighbor." I said, "We're even, Mr. Williams. You shoveled my walk in 2024." He laughed.

Filled the propane tank Wednesday. The smoker is the only appliance I baby. Wiped it down. Checked the gaskets. Checked the temperature gauge. The smoker is mine the way Pop's torque wrench was his.

Stopped at Eastern Market Saturday. Got chicken thighs, bacon, a watermelon, and a pound of greens that I did not need but bought anyway. The vendors know me by name now. Three of them asked about the family.

Plant ran clean this week. The line ran. The body held. The paycheck is the paycheck.

I read for an hour Sunday night. A book about the auto industry. Half memoir, half history. Made me think about Pop and the line and the fragile contract that built the middle of this country. I underlined the parts that hit.

A reader wrote in about the smothered pork chops. Said her late husband loved them. I wrote back. I told her about Pop. We exchanged three emails. She's in Saginaw. She's coming to the city in the spring.

The custody calendar holds. Aiden and Zaria alternate weeks. Brianna and I co-parent without drama now. We do not always have to like each other to do this right.

Watched the Tigers Sunday afternoon. Lost in extras. Detroit reflex. I yelled at the TV the way Pop used to yell at the TV. The TV did not respond. The bullpen will probably not respond either.

Mama left me a voicemail Wednesday. She said, "DeShawn. Don't forget Sunday." I had not forgotten Sunday. I have not forgotten Sunday in twenty years. The reminder is the love. I called her back.

Drove past Jefferson North on Tuesday. The plant is still the plant. The trucks coming out. I waved at the gate guard out of habit. He waved back even though he didn't know me. The plant is its own neighborhood.

I took a walk around the block Sunday morning. The neighborhood was quiet. The trees were the trees. The light was good. I waved at three porches. The porches waved back. Brookline holds.

The kids next door knocked over my trash cans Tuesday night. Their dad made them help me clean up Wednesday morning. Good man. The kids apologized. I gave them each a Capri Sun. Cycle complete.

The block had a small drama Tuesday. Somebody parked in front of Ms. Diane's driveway. Ms. Diane addressed it directly. The car moved within the hour. The neighborhood polices itself on small things.

Truck needed an oil change Saturday. Did it myself in the driveway. Took an hour. The neighbor across the street gave me a thumbs-up from his porch. I gave him one back. Detroit men do not waste words on car maintenance.

I had the baked ziti earlier in the week, but it was gone by Thursday — Zaria finished the last of it standing at the counter, still in her school clothes, and that told me everything I needed to know about that dish. By the weekend, with Mr. Williams on my mind and the block feeling a little more fragile than usual, I wanted something that felt substantial in a different way — something with a crust on it, something that hit the plate with some weight. Cubed Steaks Parmigiana is that. It’s the kind of meal that makes the kitchen smell like you meant it.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 cubed steaks (about 5 oz each)
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2 large eggs, beaten
3/4 cup Italian-seasoned breadcrumbs
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus 2 tablespoons for topping
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 cups marinara sauce
1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
Fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat your oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish and set aside.
Set up dredging station. Place flour in a shallow dish. Beat eggs in a second shallow dish. In a third dish, combine breadcrumbs, 1/4 cup Parmesan, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and black pepper. Stir to mix evenly.
Dredge the steaks. Pat cubed steaks dry with paper towels. Coat each steak in flour, shaking off the excess. Dip into the beaten egg, letting the drip fall off, then press firmly into the breadcrumb mixture on both sides until fully coated.
Brown the steaks. Heat olive oil in a large oven-safe skillet over medium-high heat. Once shimmering, add the breaded steaks and cook for 2 to 3 minutes per side until the crust is golden brown. Work in batches if needed to avoid crowding the pan. Transfer steaks to the prepared baking dish.
Add sauce and cheese. Spoon marinara sauce evenly over each steak. Top with shredded mozzarella and remaining 2 tablespoons of Parmesan. Sprinkle Italian seasoning over the top.
Bake. Place the baking dish in the preheated oven and bake, uncovered, for 20 to 25 minutes, until the cheese is melted, bubbling, and beginning to brown at the edges and the steaks are cooked through.
Rest and serve. Let the steaks rest for 5 minutes before serving. Garnish with chopped fresh parsley if desired. Serve over pasta, with crusty bread, or alongside a simple green salad.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cubed Steaks Parmigiana — The Dish That Holds When the Week Does