Spicy Mongolian Beef Salad — The Warmth That Stayed in the Pot

Karin called from Stockholm. We talk every Sunday now. Mamma's death made the sister-calls non-negotiable. Karin and Astrid and me. The three remaining girls. We hold each other up across the distance — Stockholm to Duluth to the Twin Cities, the triangle of us. We talk about the weather. We talk about the grandchildren. We talk about Mamma sometimes, but mostly we talk about whatever is in front of us. The whatever-is-in-front-of-us is the love. Lena moved to Bozeman, Montana. She is a wildlife biologist now. She sends photos of bears. The photos are on the fridge. I worry. I do not say. The worry is the standard grandmotherly worry — bears, weather, men, distance. Lena is fine. Lena has always been fine. Lena is the most self-sufficient grandchild I have, and the most distant, and the one I worry about specifically because of both of those things. Jakob got engaged. To a woman named Claire. They are both teachers. Jakob is twenty-eight. The wedding is in spring. I will bake the cake. The princess cake. The sacred cake. The cake of every Johansson wedding since I made it for my own wedding to Paul in 1988. I am sixty-something and I am still baking the cake. I will bake the cake at every Johansson wedding for as long as the hands work. I cooked Pot roast this week. Chuck roast browned in the dutch oven, then the trinity of onion-carrot-celery, beef stock, red wine, a sprig of rosemary. Three hours covered at 325. The meat falls when the spoon touches it. Mashed potatoes underneath. Pan gravy over. Damiano Thursday: a young father came in with two small children. He had not eaten in a day. The children had crackers from a bus station. I gave them three bowls each. They ate without speaking. The father wept silently while he ate. I pretended not to notice. Scandinavian decorum, applied with care. After he left, Gerald and I stood at the pot for a long minute. We did not speak. We knew what we had seen. The pot stayed warm. I miss Erik. I have been missing Erik more than I anticipated. I knew I would miss him, but I had not realized how often the missing would surface — in small specific moments, like noticing the wood pile is low and remembering that he used to chop it for me, or looking at the calendar and seeing the Sunday and knowing he is not coming for dinner. Erik was the closest person to me in space and time. The space and time are now not closed by anyone in particular. The kids fill the gap as they can. The gap is still a gap. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. The Kenwood neighborhood has aged with me. The Bergmans next door (who were a young couple with three kids when Paul and I moved in) are now grandparents themselves; the Larsons across the street have moved to a smaller place; the Andersons three doors down passed away in 2017 and 2019 respectively. The block has filled in with younger families that I am too tired to fully meet. I wave from the porch. They wave back. The wave is the relationship. It is enough.

The pot roast carried me through the week — through Gerald’s quiet standing at the pot, through Lena’s bear photos on the fridge, through the low wood pile and the empty Sunday calendar. But there are weeks when the hunger in front of you calls for something with a little fire in it, something that wakes the table up. This Spicy Mongolian Beef Salad is what I reach for when I want beef that still has some life to it — bold and warm and just sharp enough to remind you that the kitchen is still going, that the pot is still warm, that there are still people to feed.

Spicy Mongolian Beef Salad

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

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs flank steak or sirloin, thinly sliced against the grain
• 3 tablespoons soy sauce, divided
• 2 tablespoons cornstarch
• 3 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
• 2 tablespoons hoisin sauce
• 1 tablespoon chili garlic sauce (or sriracha)
• 1 tablespoon brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon rice vinegar
• 1 teaspoon sesame oil
• 6 cups mixed salad greens
• 1 cup shredded red cabbage
• 1 large carrot, julienned or shredded
• 1/2 cup thinly sliced scallions
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
• 2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
• 1/4 cup roasted peanuts, roughly chopped

Instructions

1. Marinate the beef. In a bowl, toss the sliced beef with 1 tablespoon soy sauce and the cornstarch until evenly coated. Let rest for 10 minutes at room temperature while you prepare the remaining ingredients.
2. Make the sauce. Whisk together the remaining 2 tablespoons soy sauce, hoisin sauce, chili garlic sauce, brown sugar, rice vinegar, and sesame oil in a small bowl. Set aside.
3. Sear the beef. Heat 2 tablespoons vegetable oil in a large skillet or wok over high heat until shimmering. Add the beef in a single layer (work in batches if needed) and cook undisturbed for 1—2 minutes until browned on the bottom. Stir and cook another 1—2 minutes until just cooked through. Transfer beef to a plate.
4. Build the flavor. Reduce heat to medium-high. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon oil to the pan. Add garlic and ginger and cook, stirring constantly, for about 30 seconds until fragrant. Pour in the sauce and cook for 1 minute, stirring, until slightly thickened. Return beef to the pan and toss to coat. Remove from heat.
5. Assemble the salad. Arrange the mixed greens, red cabbage, and carrot on a large platter or divide among four bowls. Spoon the warm Mongolian beef and its sauce over the greens.
6. Finish and serve. Top with scallions, cilantro, sesame seeds, and peanuts. Serve immediately while the beef is warm — the heat wilts the greens just slightly, which is exactly right.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 18g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 890mg