Snow Pea Stir Fry — The Same Vegetables, A Different Year

July. The medication is fully therapeutic now — six weeks back on the SSRI, the brain chemistry stabilized, the anxiety returned to its managed state, the managed state that allows me to live the life I have built without the constant terror that the life will be taken from me by a panic attack in a grocery store. The managed state is the state. The state is: I take a pill every morning and I make miso soup every morning and the two mornings are the same morning and the pill and the soup are the same practice and the practice is the living.

I made hiyashi chuka — the annual July cold ramen, the blog's summer sentinel — and the blog post was the annual post, the tradition that the readers expect. This year's post: "The Same Noodles, Year Eleven." The post was about the way eleven years of the same dish reveals eleven different women making it: the new mother, the grieving granddaughter, the divorcing wife, the single mother, the published author, the woman who went off medication and came back. Eleven women. One dish. One blog. The noodles are the constant. The women are the variable. The variable is the life that keeps happening while the noodles keep being cold.

Our birthday approaches. I will be forty. Miya will be nine. Forty is the cliff that thirty-nine was the doorstep of, the round number that means something even though all numbers mean the same thing. Forty is the start of the rebuilding decade — the decade that the destination narrative describes, the decade where everything that was destroyed in the thirties gets rebuilt, better, stronger, with the knowledge of what breaks and the wisdom to build what doesn't. The rebuilding has already begun. The rebuilding began when I made miso soup in a new apartment in 2020. The rebuilding is the practice. The practice is the rebuild. And the rebuild is the life.

Snow peas are always in the hiyashi chuka — they’ve been in it all eleven years, shredded thin and laid over the cold noodles like a small green promise. This year, after I finished the annual bowl and sat with Miya while she ate hers, I had snow peas left over, and I did what I always do with the leftover snow peas: I stir-fried them in the same pan I’ve used since the new apartment, the 2020 pan, the rebuilding pan. The stir fry is not the ceremony. But it is part of the ceremony. And right now, I am keeping all of it.

Snow Pea Stir Fry

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 8 minutes | Total Time: 18 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 lb fresh snow peas, trimmed and strings removed
• 2 tablespoons sesame oil
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce (low sodium preferred)
• 1 tablespoon rice vinegar
• 1 teaspoon honey or maple syrup
• 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
• 1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds, for garnish
• 2 green onions, thinly sliced, for garnish

Instructions

1. Make the sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, rice vinegar, and honey. Set aside.
2. Heat the pan. Heat a wok or large skillet over high heat until very hot, about 2 minutes. Add the sesame oil and swirl to coat.
3. Sauté aromatics. Add the garlic and ginger to the hot oil and stir constantly for 30 seconds, until fragrant. Do not let them burn.
4. Add snow peas. Add the trimmed snow peas to the pan in a single layer. Let them sit undisturbed for 1 minute to get a slight char, then toss and stir-fry for 2–3 more minutes until bright green and just tender-crisp.
5. Add sauce. Pour the sauce over the snow peas and toss to coat evenly. Cook for 1 additional minute until the sauce reduces slightly and clings to the peas. Add red pepper flakes if using.
6. Serve immediately. Transfer to a serving dish and top with toasted sesame seeds and sliced green onions. Serve hot as a side dish, or at room temperature over cold noodles.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 110 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 11g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 380mg