Hearty Stir-Fry Salad

Late June. I am writing the last chapters of the book. The momentum is building, the way momentum builds in the last mile of a run — the finish is visible, the body knows it's almost done, the legs move faster not because they have more energy but because they have more purpose. The purpose is Fumiko. The purpose has always been Fumiko.

I made curry udon — thick udon noodles in a Japanese curry broth, the comfort food that bridges the clean simplicity of udon with the warm complexity of curry. The dish is a hug in a bowl, the kind of food you make when you need to feel held and there is no one to hold you, so you hold yourself with broth and noodles and the deep, warm spice of curry that sits in your chest like a small fire that means well.

Miya is five in August. She is reading chapter books now — simple ones, but chapter books, with plots and characters and the concept of "to be continued," which she finds philosophically distressing. "But what happens next?" she asks at the end of every chapter. "You have to keep reading to find out," I say. "That's not fair," she says. The injustice of narrative suspense is, apparently, one of childhood's great revelations. She will get used to it. We all get used to not knowing what happens next. Some of us even learn to enjoy it.

Ken visited Portland — his first visit since the pandemic, since my divorce, since the world rearranged itself. He drove up from Sacramento, slowly, in the careful way of a man whose left hand trembles and whose word-finding pauses are longer than they were a year ago. He sat in my apartment and looked at Fumiko's recipe cards on the wall and said nothing for a long time. Then he said: "She would like this place." He did not say: I like this place. He said she would like it, because Ken speaks about his own feelings through the proxy of dead women, and the proxy is both infuriating and heartbreaking and completely, irrevocably Ken. She would like this place. He likes this place. Both are true. Both are said in the same sentence. The translation is mine.

I made the curry udon that night, but this hearty stir-fry — the one I return to when the udon noodles aren’t in the pantry and I still need something that feels like a hug — carries the same spirit: warm protein, crisp vegetables, a sauce that coats everything in something meaningful. Ken sat across from me eating quietly, and I thought about how food is the one language we never have to translate. This is the version I’d make for him again.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 lb boneless chicken breast or sirloin steak, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
1 tablespoon hoisin sauce
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 cup snap peas, trimmed
1 cup shredded purple cabbage
2 medium carrots, julienned
4 cups mixed greens or romaine, roughly chopped
3 green onions, sliced
2 tablespoons sesame seeds, toasted
1/4 cup chopped roasted peanuts or cashews (optional)

Instructions

Marinate the protein. In a bowl, whisk together soy sauce, sesame oil, rice vinegar, hoisin, ginger, and garlic. Add the sliced chicken or steak, toss to coat, and let marinate at room temperature for at least 10 minutes while you prep the vegetables.
Prep the vegetables. Slice the bell pepper, trim the snap peas, shred the cabbage, and julienne the carrots. Set each aside separately so nothing gets soggy before the heat hits it.
Cook the protein. Heat 1 tablespoon of vegetable oil in a large wok or skillet over high heat until shimmering. Add the marinated meat in a single layer and cook undisturbed for 2–3 minutes, then stir-fry for another 2 minutes until cooked through and lightly caramelized. Remove from the pan and set aside.
Stir-fry the vegetables. Add the remaining tablespoon of oil to the same pan. Add the bell pepper, snap peas, and carrots and stir-fry over high heat for 3–4 minutes, keeping them crisp-tender. Add the cabbage in the last minute, tossing just until slightly wilted.
Combine and dress. Remove from heat. Arrange the chopped greens on a large serving platter or in individual bowls. Top with the stir-fried vegetables and the cooked protein. Drizzle any remaining pan juices over the top as a warm dressing.
Finish and serve. Scatter the green onions, toasted sesame seeds, and nuts (if using) over the top. Serve immediately while the stir-fried components are still warm against the cool greens.

Nutrition (per serving)

Hearty Stir-Fry Salad — The Bowl You Make When You Need to Hold Yourself