Easy French Lentils

Regular season finale. Bryan Station beat Scott County 31-21 and Clay had sixteen tackles, bringing his season total to one hundred and nine. The school record of 143 is thirty-four tackles away, and he has at least one playoff game, probably two if they win the first round. He's going to get there. I know it. The coach knows it. The Herald-Leader knows it — they ran another article. I bought ten copies. Connie didn't say anything this time. She just pointed to the drawer where the scrapbook lives.

But the bigger news this week is that Clay told the EKU coaches he needs until December to decide. December. Not Thanksgiving, as he'd said. December. He moved the timeline and didn't explain why. Connie asked. He said "I just need more time." More time for what? More time to decide between a free education and the Army? More time to weigh scholarship against service? More time to be seventeen and not twenty-two, which is the age where these decisions stop being theoretical and start being binding?

I don't push. I've said this before and I'll say it again: I don't push because Earl didn't push. Earl didn't tell me not to go into the mines. Earl didn't tell me anything about my future. He just went to work every morning and came home every evening and the message was: you work. You provide. You endure. The specifics of how you work and provide and endure are yours to figure out. I hated that approach when I was Clay's age. I understand it now. You can't live your child's life. You can only model living.

This week I made venison chili. My buddy Roy from the construction crew goes deer hunting every November and always brings me a few pounds of ground venison. Venison chili is like regular chili but leaner and gamier and more Appalachian, because venison is the protein of the mountains — the meat of people who hunt because they can't afford the butcher, or because they can afford the butcher but prefer the woods.

Same as my regular chili but with ground venison instead of beef. Brown the venison (add a tablespoon of bacon grease because venison is lean and needs the fat for browning). Onion, garlic, tomatoes, beans, chili powder, cumin, paprika, bourbon. Simmer three hours. The venison gives it an earthier, wilder flavor — less beefy, more woods. It tastes like November in the mountains, like orange vests and cold mornings and the particular silence of a deer stand at dawn when the world is holding its breath.

Clay ate a big bowl and said "This is different." I said "It's venison." He said "It's good." A two-word review from a Hensley male. I'll take it. I'll frame it next to the newspaper articles.

Roy’s venison doesn’t last forever, and some weeks the freezer is light and the wallet is lighter and you still need something that tastes like you mean it. That’s when I reach for lentils — the same kind of no-fuss, honest pot of food that the mountains have always made room for, the kind that simmers without complaint while you sit with a scrapbook and a quiet house and everything you can’t say out loud. This French lentil recipe does that same work the chili does: it fills the kitchen with something warm, it asks almost nothing of you, and it puts food on the table that means something.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 cup French green lentils (lentilles du Puy), rinsed
3 cups low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth
1 cup water
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 medium carrots, diced
2 stalks celery, diced
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves (or 1/2 teaspoon dried)
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Fresh parsley, chopped, for serving

Instructions

Sweat the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion, carrot, and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened — about 7 to 8 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Add lentils and liquid. Stir in the rinsed lentils, broth, water, bay leaf, thyme, salt, and pepper. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat to low.
Simmer low and slow. Cover partially and simmer for 30 to 35 minutes, stirring occasionally, until lentils are tender but still hold their shape. French lentils are forgiving — they won’t turn to mush the way other lentils do.
Finish and season. Remove the bay leaf. Stir in the Dijon mustard and red wine vinegar. Taste and adjust salt and pepper. The vinegar lifts the earthiness and the mustard gives it a quiet backbone.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with chopped fresh parsley. Good with crusty bread. Good as-is. Good reheated the next day, which is when it’s honestly best.

Nutrition (per serving)

Easy French Lentils — The Humble Bowl That Holds a Season