By MLK Day and Marcus's birthday week. He turns thirteen on the 15th. Thirteen. A teenager. My baby is a teenager. He has opinions about everything, including the temperature of his shower, the thread count of his sheets (where did he learn about thread count?), and whether I should use fresh garlic or garlic powder (fresh, he says, always fresh — and he's right, but I'm not telling him that). He is becoming a person who takes up space in a room, not with volume but with presence. He walks like Curtis — steady, deliberate, looking straight ahead. He argues like Terrell — quick, sharp, relentless. He loves like me — fiercely, protectively, with food.
I made his birthday dinner: steak. His request. Not because his father took him to a steakhouse (Terrell hasn't called this month, for the record) but because Marcus has developed an appreciation for a well-seared piece of meat that he definitely did not get from Mama's kitchen. I bought two ribeyes from the butcher counter at Publix, which cost twenty-three dollars and made my wallet weep, but my son is thirteen once and he wants steak and he will have steak. I seared them in cast iron — Mama's skillet, the one she gave me when I moved into the townhouse, the one that has absorbed fifty years of meals — and served them with a baked potato and steamed broccoli (his choice; when did my son start choosing broccoli?). He ate every bite. He said, "This is better than a restaurant." It probably wasn't. It tasted like it was.
Jasmine made Marcus a birthday card with a drawing of him debating and winning, complete with a trophy that was bigger than his head. Marcus looked at it and said, "The trophy should be bigger." She said, "It's already bigger than your head." He said, "My head is proportional." They fought about proportionality for ten minutes. I watched and ate cake and thought: this. This ordinary, ridiculous, beautiful argument about head-to-trophy ratios — this is what Mama fought for. This is what she stayed alive long enough to set in motion. The children. The table. The argument about nothing. The everything inside the nothing.
I didn’t tell Marcus I made the sauce from scratch — I just put it on the table in a little ramekin and let him think I’d always done it that way. If he’s old enough to have opinions about garlic powder versus fresh garlic, he’s old enough to know that the best things on the table don’t come from a bottle. This sauce came together while the steaks rested, which meant I had exactly enough time to feel proud of myself before he sat down and declared it “pretty good,” which from a thirteen-year-old is the same as a standing ovation.
Homemade Steak Sauce
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 8 (about 1 cup)
Ingredients
- 1/2 cup ketchup
- 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
- 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
- 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
- 1 tablespoon brown sugar, packed
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder (or 1 fresh clove, minced)
- 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
- 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- Pinch of cayenne pepper (optional)
- Salt to taste
Instructions
- Combine. Add ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, apple cider vinegar, Dijon mustard, brown sugar, garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, black pepper, and cayenne (if using) to a small saucepan. Stir to combine.
- Simmer. Place the saucepan over medium-low heat. Bring the mixture to a gentle simmer, stirring occasionally, and cook for 8—10 minutes until the sauce has slightly thickened and the flavors have melded.
- Taste and adjust. Remove from heat. Taste and adjust seasoning — add a pinch more sugar for sweetness, vinegar for tang, or salt as needed.
- Rest and serve. Let the sauce cool for a few minutes before serving alongside your seared steak. It thickens a bit more as it cools. Serve warm or at room temperature.
- Store. Transfer any leftover sauce to a sealed jar and refrigerate for up to 2 weeks.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 30 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 210mg