Herbed Potatoes — The Simple Thing on the Side of the Table That Feeds Everyone

Christmas. The Mountain View house was packed. The kitchen was loud and bright. Lumpia. Pancit. Lechon kawali. Bibingka. Puto bumbong. The smells were the inheritance. I took a photo of Lourdes at the stove and put it on the blog without caption. None was needed.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous. Joseph said something funny Sunday on the phone. I do not remember exactly what. The funny is the brother.

I made lechon kawali Saturday. The pork belly, the brining, the deep fry, the crackle. The kitchen smelled of hot oil for two days.

A reader wrote me a long email this week about her grandmother's adobo, which differed from mine in every measurement. The differences were the conversation. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

Pete texted me Saturday. He retired three years ago. He still texts me Saturday. The friendship is the broth.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

I checked email at the kitchen table while the rice cooked. There were one hundred and twenty unread messages. I closed the laptop. The unread can wait.

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

The lechon kawali was the centerpiece and the kitchen smelled of hot oil for two days and that was fine — that was the point. But the thing that kept everyone moving through the kitchen, the thing that disappeared quietly from the pan before the pork belly was even plated, was the herbed potatoes. Simple. Steady. Ready before anyone asked. That is what this recipe is: the side dish that does its job without announcement, the kind of thing Lourdes would make without a recipe and I have been making with one for years.

Herbed Potatoes

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs small red or yellow potatoes, halved or quartered
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 teaspoon dried rosemary
• 1 teaspoon dried thyme
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped (for finishing)

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven. Set oven to 425°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment or foil.
2. Prep the potatoes. Halve or quarter the potatoes so pieces are roughly even in size — this ensures they cook at the same rate.
3. Season. In a large bowl, toss potatoes with olive oil, rosemary, thyme, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper until evenly coated.
4. Arrange and roast. Spread potatoes in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet, cut side down. Roast for 20—25 minutes, flipping once halfway through, until golden brown on the edges and tender through the center.
5. Finish and serve. Transfer to a serving dish and scatter fresh parsley over the top. Serve immediately alongside whatever the kitchen has made.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 195 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 30g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 290mg