Pan Fried Garlic Butter Steak with Crispy Potatoes and Asparagus

Two weeks. The suitcase is out. I'm making lists — packing lists, restaurant lists, phrase lists, the compulsive list-making of a person who processes anxiety through organization. The lists are long and getting longer: what to pack (rain jacket, comfortable shoes, the Korean textbook, Karen's journal), what to eat (Sujin's recommendations, Mina's recommendations, Maangchi's recommendations, Daniel's "eat everything" policy), what to say (basic Korean phrases laminated on a card in my wallet, which Daniel says is "adorable" and I say is "prepared"). I'm prepared. Over-prepared, probably. But preparation is how I manage the unmanageable, and Korea feels unmanageable in the best possible way.

This week I made a farewell Korean meal — the last big cooking project before the trip. I made everything: kimchi jjigae, doenjang jjigae, japchae, bulgogi, three banchan, rice. I invited Sujin, Daniel (who drove up from Federal Way), Jenny, and Grace (from the Misook cooking class). Five people in my condo, eating Korean food, celebrating my departure. Sujin brought her halmeoni's kkakdugi. Daniel brought tteokbokki he made that morning. Grace brought hobakjeon. Jenny brought wine, because Jenny is Chinese-American and contributes to Korean potlucks the way Chinese-Americans always contribute: generously and with wine.

Over dinner, Daniel and I talked about what we hope to find in Korea. Daniel said, "I want to feel Korean without trying." I said, "I want to eat food I didn't have to learn." The table went quiet — not uncomfortable quiet, understanding quiet. The quiet of five people recognizing that two of them are about to do something brave and specific and impossible to explain to anyone who hasn't lived the particular experience of being from a place you've never been. Sujin raised her glass and said, "한국에서 잘 먹어!" (Eat well in Korea!) We clinked glasses. 잘 먹어. Eat well. The only blessing I need.

Dr. Yoon's last session before the trip. She said, "Remember: you're not going to Korea to find yourself. You're going to Korea as yourself. The self you've built. The self that makes kimchi and speaks bad Korean and eats silkworm pupae and cries in cars. That self. You're taking her to Korea, not leaving her in Seattle." Don't leave yourself in Seattle. Take yourself to Korea. Bring the whole self — the American parts and the Korean parts and the adopted parts and the still-figuring-it-out parts. Bring the gochugaru hands and the Zojirushi knowledge and the eighteen months of doenjang jjigae iterations. Bring the anger and the gratitude and the both. Bring both. Bring everything.

I packed the journal Karen gave me. It sits on top of my clothes in the suitcase, the first thing I'll see when I open the bag in Seoul. Karen's handwriting on the bookmarked pages: "Write about the best meal!" "The fish market!" "Draw something!" My mom's handwriting, going with me to Korea. My mom, who is in Bellevue, who is not Korean, whose pot roast recipe started this whole thing, is going with me in the only way she can: through a journal, through love, through the words she wrote in the margins.

Saturday: Bellevue. Last dinner before the trip. Karen made pot roast — the dish that started it. Full circle. The pot roast and a bowl of my kimchi, side by side, one last time before I go to the country where the kimchi comes from. Karen cried at the door when I left. Not a lot. Just a single tear she wiped away quickly. I said, "Mom, I'll be back in three weeks." She said, "I know. I'll be here." I'll be here. The promise. The anchor. The thing she always says, the thing I always need to hear, the thing that makes it possible to go: knowing someone will be here when I come back.

Karen’s pot roast is the dish that started everything — the first recipe I ever watched her make, the one I can smell when I close my eyes and think of home. For this last dinner before Korea, I wanted something in that same spirit: beef, butter, potatoes, the kind of food that says “I’ll be here.” This garlic butter steak with crispy potatoes and asparagus is my version of that anchor meal — rich and warm and uncomplicated, the taste of someone cooking for you because they love you and they want you to leave full.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 New York strip steaks (about 1 inch thick, 12 oz each)
1 1/2 lbs baby gold potatoes, halved
1 bunch asparagus, trimmed and cut into 2-inch pieces
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
6 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, chopped
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper, plus more to taste
1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish

Instructions

Prep the steaks. Remove steaks from the refrigerator 30 minutes before cooking. Pat dry with paper towels and season generously on both sides with salt and pepper.
Crisp the potatoes. Place halved potatoes in a large oven-safe skillet or second skillet with 1 tablespoon olive oil over medium heat. Season with 1/2 teaspoon salt and cook cut-side down for 12–15 minutes, flipping once, until golden and fork-tender. Transfer to a plate and cover to keep warm.
Sear the steaks. In the same skillet (or a large cast iron pan), heat 1 tablespoon olive oil over medium-high heat until smoking. Add steaks and sear without moving for 4 minutes. Flip and sear another 3–4 minutes for medium-rare (adjust to your preference).
Add the garlic butter. Reduce heat to medium. Add 3 tablespoons butter, minced garlic, thyme, and rosemary to the pan. Once butter is melted and foaming, tilt the pan and spoon the garlic butter over the steaks repeatedly for 1–2 minutes. Transfer steaks to a cutting board and rest for 5–8 minutes.
Cook the asparagus. In the same skillet with the garlic butter, add the remaining 1 tablespoon butter and the asparagus. Toss to coat and cook for 3–4 minutes until bright green and crisp-tender. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Serve. Slice steaks against the grain. Arrange on plates with crispy potatoes and asparagus. Spoon any remaining garlic butter from the pan over everything and garnish with fresh parsley.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pan Fried Garlic Butter Steak with Crispy Potatoes and Asparagus — The Last Dinner Before Korea