Spicy French Dip — When the House Is Loud the Way It Should Be

Atlanta summer — ninety-four degrees by noon. Set the Table at New Birth Saturday morning. Six girls. We did baked chicken.

Daddy in his apartment in the back. I brought him his coffee and his medication this morning. He grumbled. The grumble was the love. I caught the smell of Mama's seasoning blend at the stove Tuesday morning. Just for a second. The grief comes when it comes.

Ribs on the smoker Saturday. Six hours. Apple wood. Dry rub.

Marcus, 21, studying for finals at Alabama. Jasmine, 18, home from Howard for the weekend.

I called Mama at the stove without realizing I was doing it. Some habits are the love.

The kids were home for the weekend. The house was loud the way it should be.

Andre called from LA. He told the Kevin Hart story again. Twenty-some years and that boy is still telling that story. Everyone in this family is going to hear about Kevin Hart at our funerals.

Derek and I had date night Friday. Same restaurant, same booth, same enchiladas for me and carne asada for him.

Thursday I made cornbread for a sister at church whose husband had surgery. I dropped it off at the hospital. She cried at the door. I told her, eat the cornbread, baby. The food is the saying.

Daddy sat in his chair after dinner watching the news. He fell asleep before the third quarter. Standard.

The neighbors had a Friday cookout this week. I brought my mac and cheese. They have come to expect this. I have come to expect this. The block is the block.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. Some novel about a Black woman in 1960s Alabama. Mama would have liked it.

Miss Ernestine called Tuesday. She's ninety-something and sharp as ever. She told me my potato salad still needs more mustard.

I made a casserole for the church potluck. The pan came back empty. That is the only review I trust.

Sunday service at New Birth this morning. The choir sang. I sang soprano in the second alto row. Pastor preached about Naomi and Ruth. The congregation said amen. I said amen.

Tuesday evening I sat at the kitchen table with my composition notebook and worked on the cookbook. From Brenda's Kitchen — that's the working title. I cannot write the introduction without crying yet.

The blood pressure check was Wednesday. The numbers were borderline. The doctor wants me to walk more. I am walking more.

Pastor preached about the prodigal son again. He preaches about that boy at least three times a year. The text is the text but every preaching is different. I cried in the second service this time. Don't ask me why.

I went to the cemetery Saturday morning. Brenda's grave is on the hill at South-View. Curtis still goes most Sundays. I left a small bouquet of magnolias.

I had a hard counseling case at school this week. A seventh-grade girl whose mama lost her job. We talked. I gave her my number. I told her she could call.

Saturday morning I had Set the Table at the Cascade Heights center. Twelve young women. We did baked chicken. One of them — Imani, sixteen — was so afraid of seasoning that she barely shook the salt. I stood next to her and put my hand over hers and said, baby, you cannot be afraid of food. We seasoned the chicken. The chicken came out right. She glowed.

Wednesday Bible study at the church. We read through Proverbs. The women in my row argued about whether wisdom is built or born. I said both. They agreed, sort of.

After a Saturday with six hours of ribs on the smoker and the whole house smelling like apple wood and dry rub, I didn’t want anything timid come Sunday evening — and I told Imani the same thing I tell myself every time I step to a stove: you cannot be afraid of food. This Spicy French Dip is exactly that kind of recipe — bold, unapologetic, built for a table where people are still talking loud and the weekend hasn’t quite let go yet. Dip it, eat it, and don’t you dare hold back on the seasoning.

Spicy French Dip

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

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs thinly sliced deli roast beef
• 4 hoagie rolls, split
• 2 cups beef broth
• 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (adjust to heat preference)
• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
• 4 slices provolone cheese
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

1. Build the au jus. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine beef broth, Worcestershire sauce, red pepper flakes, smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, and cayenne. Stir well and bring to a gentle simmer. Let cook uncovered for 10 minutes to develop flavor. Taste and adjust salt and pepper.
2. Warm the beef. Add butter and olive oil to a large skillet over medium heat. Once butter is melted, add the sliced roast beef and pour 1/4 cup of the spiced au jus over the meat. Toss gently and cook 3—4 minutes until warmed through and the edges just begin to caramelize.
3. Toast the rolls. Set your oven broiler to high. Place split hoagie rolls cut-side up on a baking sheet and broil 1—2 minutes until lightly golden. Watch them — they go fast.
4. Assemble. Pile the warm spiced beef onto the bottom half of each toasted roll. Lay a slice of provolone over the meat and return to the broiler for 1—2 minutes until the cheese is melted and bubbling.
5. Serve with dipping cups. Ladle the remaining hot au jus into four small bowls or ramekins, one per sandwich. Cap the rolls, serve immediately alongside the dipping cups, and do not be afraid to get your hands into it.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 980mg