Slow-Cooker Carne Asada

July 22nd, 2018. One year since Ruben died. I woke up early and went out to the patio with coffee and sat in the quiet of the Las Cruces morning — it was still a few degrees cooler than it would be by nine, the desert doing the thing it does in early morning where it's almost bearable, almost forgiving. The Organ Mountains were pink at the top in the early light. I sat there for a long time.

I didn't have a plan for how to mark it. I'd thought about it for weeks and had no plan. My mother came out at seven and sat next to me and we were quiet together and then she said, "He would have liked this morning." I said yes. She said, "He liked mornings when they were cool." I said he did. She went back inside. I sat for another hour.

My father and I drove to the cemetery in the afternoon. We stood at the grave and my father stood very straight, the way he stands when something costs him to stand there, and he didn't say anything and neither did I. We stood for about twenty minutes. My father put his hand on the stone. Then we drove home.

I made posole for dinner. Whole family, whatever cousins and aunts were within reach, Marisol and Alejandro who drove over from across town. I made it the way Gloria makes it, starting early afternoon so it could go for hours. The pot that belonged to Gloria's mother and before that her mother. I stirred it and thought about the people who had stirred it before me and the ones who would stir it after and the fact that this particular pot, on this particular day, in this particular kitchen, was the right answer to the only question that matters, which is: what do you do for the people you love when the year that changed everything turns over? You make the food. You call them in. You fill the pot. You begin again.

The posole I made that night belongs to Gloria and to her mother and to everyone who stirred that pot before me — I’m not the one to write that recipe down. But the spirit of it, the long slow heat, the house filling up, the people coming in from across town and sitting down together — that I can offer you. This slow-cooker carne asada is how I carry that same intention into an ordinary week: you start it early, you let it go for hours, and by the time everyone arrives the kitchen already smells like something worth coming home to.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 8 hrs | Total Time: 8 hrs 15 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 1/2 lbs flank steak or skirt steak, trimmed
1/3 cup fresh orange juice (about 1 large orange)
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
3 tablespoons soy sauce
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 jalapeño, seeded and minced
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped, plus more for serving
1 small white onion, thinly sliced
Warm tortillas, sliced radishes, and lime wedges, for serving

Instructions

Make the marinade. In a small bowl, whisk together the orange juice, lime juice, soy sauce, garlic, cumin, chili powder, oregano, smoked paprika, salt, pepper, jalapeño, and cilantro until combined.
Layer the slow cooker. Scatter the sliced onion across the bottom of a 6-quart slow cooker. Lay the steak on top in a single layer, cutting it in half if needed to fit.
Add the marinade. Pour the marinade evenly over the steak, turning once to coat both sides. Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes if time allows, or proceed directly to cooking.
Cook low and slow. Cover and cook on LOW for 7 to 8 hours, or on HIGH for 4 to 5 hours, until the meat is very tender and pulls apart easily with two forks.
Shred and finish. Transfer the steak to a cutting board and shred or slice thinly against the grain. Return the meat to the slow cooker and stir to coat in the cooking juices. Let it rest in the juices for 10 minutes before serving.
Serve. Pile the carne asada onto warm tortillas and top with fresh cilantro, sliced radishes, and a squeeze of lime. Serve family-style so everyone can build their own.

Nutrition (per serving)

Slow-Cooker Carne Asada — What You Make When You Fill the Pot Again