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Hot Dog Stew — The Humble Bowl That Was Enough

February. Reynaldo's death anniversary is this month — twelve years now. But before the anniversary arrives, I have to get through the shortest month in the darkest state, the month that Alaska uses to test whether you're serious about staying. January was cold. February is colder and meaner about it — the cold has an edge in February, a cruelty, as if the weather knows you're tired and has decided to lean in.

The light is returning, fractionally. Five minutes more daylight each day. The increase is invisible to the naked eye but measurable on the clock, and I track it the way I track my blood pressure — obsessively, hopefully, looking for evidence that the trend is moving in the right direction. More light. More daylight. More time in the world that isn't dark. The returning of light in Alaska is the slowest miracle, the resurrection that takes months instead of days, and you have to believe in it before you can see it.

I'm eating alone every night. The alone-ness of meals has changed since the breakup — it's no longer loaded with the meaning of Jason's absence; it's just the fact of my life, the daily reality of a single woman who lives alone and eats alone and cooks alone. The alone is becoming neutral. Not good, not bad. Just the state of things. Dr. Reeves says this is progress. I say this is dinner.

I made sinigang na baboy — pork sinigang, the classic version, not Reynaldo's salmon adaptation but the original, the provincial standard, the sour soup that every Filipino grandmother makes slightly differently and every Filipino grandchild insists is the best version. Pork ribs in tamarind broth, radish, kangkong, tomatoes, onion, long green pepper. The broth was clear and sour and the pork fell off the bone and the simplicity of it — just good ingredients in hot liquid — was enough. Enough is a word I'm learning to respect. Not more. Not less. Enough. The sinigang was enough. The evening was enough. I am enough.

I know a hot dog stew is not sinigang. I know it doesn’t carry the same weight, the same tamarind sting, the same memory of Reynaldo’s kitchen or the province or the grandmother versions I’ve eaten in other people’s homes. But after I finished that pot of sinigang, I thought about the week ahead — the anniversary still coming, the dark still pressing — and I wanted something I could make on a Tuesday without ceremony, without grief attached to every ingredient. This stew is exactly that: humble, warm, no pretense. It asks nothing of you. It just feeds you. And some nights, that is the whole point.

Hot Dog Stew

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

Ingredients

  • 1 package (14 oz) hot dogs, sliced into 1/2-inch rounds
  • 3 medium potatoes, peeled and diced
  • 2 medium carrots, peeled and sliced
  • 1 medium onion, diced
  • 2 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
  • 2 cups low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 1 teaspoon paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
  • Salt to taste
  • 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (optional)

Instructions

  1. Saute the aromatics. Heat olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook for 3–4 minutes until softened and translucent. Add garlic and cook for another 30 seconds until fragrant.
  2. Brown the hot dogs. Add the sliced hot dogs to the pot and cook for 2–3 minutes, stirring occasionally, until they begin to brown lightly on the edges.
  3. Add vegetables and liquid. Stir in the potatoes and carrots. Pour in the diced tomatoes with their juices and the broth. Add paprika and black pepper and stir to combine.
  4. Simmer until tender. Bring the stew to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce heat to medium-low. Cover and simmer for 18–20 minutes, or until the potatoes and carrots are fork-tender.
  5. Taste and finish. Taste and adjust salt as needed. Ladle into bowls and garnish with fresh parsley if desired. Serve hot with crusty bread or over steamed rice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 340 | Protein: 12g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 32g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 820mg

Grace Santos
About the cook who shared this
Grace Santos
Week 201 of Grace’s 30-year story · Anchorage, Alaska
Grace is a thirty-seven-year-old ER nurse in Anchorage, Alaska — Filipino-American, single, and the person her entire community calls when they need a hundred lumpia for a party or a shoulder to cry on after a hard shift. She cooks to cope with the things she sees in the emergency room, feeding her neighbors and her church and anyone who looks like they need a plate. Her adobo could bring peace to a warring nation. Her schedule could kill a lesser person.

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