Sofritas Tofu Burrito Bowls

Late April into early May. Spring practice ended Friday. Three weeks of installs and walk-throughs and conditioning and weight room sessions, and we ended it the way I always end it — with a no-contact scrimmage Friday afternoon, cookout for the team and families immediately after, and then the offseason starts officially on Monday with the strength program. The cookout was about a hundred and fifty people. I had ordered six cases of brisket from the smoker at Sam's and I had spent Thursday night smoking my own brisket on the offset, and the spread was supplemented with green chile mac, posole, slaw, beans, watermelon, and approximately four hundred chocolate chip cookies that the booster moms had baked. The boys ate. The boys ate like they had been on a calorie-restricted plan for six months. By six-thirty the food was gone and the boosters were complaining good-naturedly that they had not gotten enough brisket. I told them next year we will smoke more. I tell them this every year. We have been smoking more every year. They will keep complaining. The complaint is part of the love.

Saturday and Sunday I did nothing. Genuinely nothing. Lisa was off — she had switched a shift to take Friday off for the visit and had taken a long weekend — and the kids had things they were doing without us. Diego was at Hayley's family's lake house all weekend with her family. Sofia was at a track meet in Boulder Saturday morning and at her friend's house Saturday night and Sunday. The twins had a birthday party Saturday afternoon and a soccer tournament Sunday morning, both of which Lisa's sister came to take them to, because Lisa's sister Carrie and her husband Tom live in Highlands Ranch and have agreed, in the context of being family, to absorb a certain amount of twin-shuttling on the weekends when Lisa and I need a moment. We called it our staycation. It was, by my count, the third staycation Lisa and I have ever taken in our marriage.

Saturday morning I made coffee. Lisa and I sat on the back patio. It was sixty-eight degrees and clear. The patio was, for the first time of the year, fully usable — the chairs were out, the umbrella was up, the grill was in its summer position, the herbs Lisa had planted the week before were starting to come up in the planters along the fence. We sat there from seven to ten with cups of coffee and the newspaper and we did not say much. Lisa fell asleep at nine for about forty minutes, which I think might be the first time she has fallen asleep on the patio in years, and which made me realize how tired she has been, and which I will not bring up to her because she does not like being told she has been tired. She knows. The knowing is enough.

I made beans and rice for lunch. The simplest food. Pinto beans I had cooked Thursday, warmed up. Rice cooked from scratch with garlic and onion and chicken stock. A few sprinkles of cilantro. A fried egg on top of mine. A handful of cheese on top of Lisa's. We sat at the kitchen island and ate. Lisa said, "This is the best food in the house." I said, "Beans and rice." She said, "Beans and rice." I said, "Why do you think that." She said, "Because it does not need anything. It just is what it is. It is enough on its own." I thought about that for a while. I think she is right. There is a certain category of food that does not need to be anything other than what it is — a bowl of beans and rice, a tortilla, a slice of bread with butter, a hot cup of coffee — and that food is, in the end, what you live on. The fancy stuff is the celebration. The beans and rice are the life. I have spent thirty years cooking the celebration. The life happens between meals.

Saturday afternoon Lisa and I went for a walk. Two miles in the neighborhood. We saw three of our neighbors, which was three more conversations than we had originally planned. The Petersens are putting in a new fence. The Singhs are sending their oldest kid to college in the fall. The retired guy at the corner — his name is Jim, he is seventy-eight, his wife passed two years ago — was in his front yard pruning a tree that did not appear to need pruning, and he was glad to see us, and we stood with him for fifteen minutes talking about the tree, the weather, his daughter who was visiting from Chicago next month. Jim has had a hard couple of years. He has been holding up well. We have made an effort, since his wife died, to wave at him every time we drive by, and to stop for a chat once a week if we can manage it. There is a category of fatherhood and adulthood that I have come to think of as the Jim duty — the obligation, when you are middle-aged and your kids are nearly grown and your parents are still alive, to be the kind of neighbor who notices the older guy on your block, and who waves, and who stops to talk about the tree. Jim has saved us about as much as we have saved him. Talking to Jim is easier than reading a book about loss.

Saturday night Lisa and I made dinner together. I grilled. Lisa made the sides. We ate on the patio at seven-thirty. The light was that long late-April Colorado light that drags out forever and makes everyone feel like they are getting more day than they paid for. We had a lemon-pepper chicken with green chile and a vinaigrette salad with strawberries from the spring market, and bread that Lisa had picked up from the bakery in Wash Park. We ate. We talked about the kids. We talked about the house — there are things to fix, the dishwasher is dying, the upstairs bathroom needs a re-tile job. We talked about her job — she is up for a charge nurse promotion this fall and is unsure whether to apply for it. We did not talk about the team or the season or anything that involved my work, because we had agreed Friday morning that this weekend was not going to involve football. I held that promise.

Sunday I made breakfast. Sunday afternoon we read. Sunday evening Lisa's sister brought the twins back at eight and Lisa hugged her sister and made her stay for dessert. The kids told us about the weekend. The house came back to life. Diego got home at nine. Sofia at nine-thirty. Lisa and I sat in the den at ten and did not turn on the TV. She read. I read. The house was quiet. The road bends. Feed your people. The game is won at the table. And on the patio, on a Saturday in late April, with beans and rice and a wife asleep in a chair.

What Lisa said at the kitchen island on Saturday — that beans and rice “just is what it is” and “is enough on its own” — stayed with me through the rest of the weekend and into the week. These Sofritas Tofu Burrito Bowls are the closest thing in my regular rotation to that same idea: seasoned rice, hearty beans, bold flavor from braised tofu, and nothing extra that doesn’t earn its place in the bowl. It’s the kind of meal I come back to when the season has been long and the table just needs to be fed, not impressed.

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

Ingredients

For the Sofritas Tofu:
1 block (14 oz) extra-firm tofu, pressed and crumbled
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, minced
1 tablespoon adobo sauce (from the can)
1/2 cup roasted tomato salsa
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
Salt and black pepper to taste
For the Rice:
1 1/2 cups long-grain white rice
2 1/4 cups chicken or vegetable stock
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup white onion, finely diced
1 tablespoon olive oil
Juice of 1 lime
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped
Salt to taste
For the Bowls:
1 can (15 oz) pinto or black beans, rinsed and drained
1 cup shredded Mexican cheese blend
1 cup pico de gallo or fresh salsa
1 avocado, sliced
Sour cream, for serving
Fresh cilantro, for garnish
Lime wedges, for serving

Instructions

Press the tofu. Wrap the block of tofu in a clean towel and press it under a heavy skillet for at least 10 minutes. Crumble into rough, coarse pieces once pressed.
Make the sofritas. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the crumbled tofu and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned, about 6–8 minutes. Add the garlic, chipotle peppers, adobo sauce, salsa, cumin, chili powder, paprika, and oregano. Stir to combine and reduce heat to medium. Simmer for 10–12 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the mixture is thick and the liquid has mostly absorbed. Season with salt and pepper.
Cook the rice. In a medium saucepan, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook until softened, about 3 minutes. Add the rice and toast, stirring, for 2 minutes. Pour in the stock and a pinch of salt. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, cover, and cook for 18 minutes. Remove from heat, let rest covered for 5 minutes, then fluff with a fork. Stir in lime juice and cilantro.
Warm the beans. In a small saucepan over medium-low heat, warm the rinsed beans with a pinch of cumin and salt until heated through, about 5 minutes. Alternatively, warm them briefly in the microwave.
Assemble the bowls. Divide the rice among four bowls. Top each with a portion of beans, a generous scoop of sofritas, and your desired toppings: shredded cheese, pico de gallo, sliced avocado, sour cream, and fresh cilantro. Serve with lime wedges on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Sofritas Tofu Burrito Bowls — The Food That Just Is What It Is