Steak Sandwiches With Crispy Onions — The Week the Kitchen Did Its Work

I baked at 6 AM because the house was too quiet and the oven is the surest way I know to make a house feel inhabited. The oven generates heat, smell, the small ticks of metal expanding, the predictable rise of dough on the counter, the timer I can hear from three rooms away. The oven is, in some real sense, my roommate. I have not told this to my children. They would gently suggest something. The oven and I prefer no suggestions. Erik came over Sunday. He chopped wood for me without being asked — the pile by the back door was getting low, and Erik had noticed, and Erik had brought his ax, and Erik had spent forty-five minutes splitting and stacking and not making a single comment about how the wood needed to be done. He drank coffee. He left. The whole visit was forty-five minutes. It was perfect. Erik is a perfect brother in the specific way of Scandinavian brothers — silent, useful, present. Mamma called Tuesday. Her voice was small but her mind was sharp. She wanted to talk about Pappa, of all people. About the time he fixed her bicycle in 1962. About how he always said "there" when he had finished a job, the same way every time, the small declarative finality. She had not thought of this in years, she said. The memory came to her in the kitchen, while she was peeling an apple. I listened. I did not interrupt. The memory was unprovoked and total. The memory is everything. 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. The Damiano Center on Thursday. Gerald told me a long story about a bus accident he had survived in 1988 in Duluth. He had not told me before. He has been telling me more stories lately. I am the audience he has been gathering, slowly, over years. I listen. I do not interrupt. The stories are the gift he is giving. Pappa would have liked this week. The fish were biting. The weather was clear. The Vikings won. He would have approved of all three. Pappa was a man of small approvals — he did not say much, but he made a small grunt of acknowledgment when something was right, and the grunt was the highest praise he gave. I miss the grunt. I miss being given the grunt. 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. I keep a small notebook on the kitchen counter — green spiral-bound, from the drugstore. I write in it most days. The notebook holds the things I do not want to forget — Erik's stories about Pappa, Karin's notes about Mormor, Sophie's first words about her babies, the recipes I have changed slightly and want to remember in their changed form. The notebook is a small museum. The museum will go to Anna eventually, and then to Sophie, and then to Sophie's daughter Ingrid, and then onward. It is enough.

The pot roast had done its work by Thursday — that low, slow warmth that asks nothing of you while it gives everything back. But by the weekend I wanted something a little louder, something with a sear and a crunch, the kind of cooking that requires your hands to be busy. Steak sandwiches with crispy onions are that recipe for me: fast enough to clear your head, satisfying enough to feel like you have done something real. Erik would approve. He would not say so, but he would eat two.

Steak Sandwiches With Crispy Onions

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs sirloin steak, sliced thin against the grain
• 2 large yellow onions, sliced into thin rings
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 tsp paprika
• 1 tsp garlic powder
• 1 tsp kosher salt, plus more for the steak
• 1/2 tsp black pepper, plus more for the steak
• Vegetable oil, for frying (about 1/2 cup)
• 1 tbsp butter
• 1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
• 4 hoagie rolls or sturdy sandwich buns, split and lightly toasted
• 3 tbsp horseradish sauce or creamy mayo
• Optional: sliced provolone or Swiss cheese

Instructions

1. Prep the onions. Separate the onion slices into rings. In a shallow bowl, whisk together the flour, paprika, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Toss the onion rings in the seasoned flour until evenly coated, shaking off any excess.
2. Fry the onions. Heat vegetable oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Working in batches, fry the onion rings 3—4 minutes per batch, turning once, until deeply golden and crisp. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate and season immediately with a pinch of salt. Do not crowd the pan or they will steam instead of crisp.
3. Season the steak. Pat the steak slices dry with a paper towel. Season generously on both sides with salt and black pepper.
4. Sear the steak. Wipe out most of the oil from the skillet, leaving a thin film. Return the pan to high heat and add the butter. When the butter foams, add the steak slices in a single layer (work in batches if needed) and sear 1—2 minutes per side until browned. Add the Worcestershire sauce in the final 30 seconds and toss to coat. Remove from heat.
5. Assemble. Spread horseradish sauce or mayo on the cut sides of the toasted rolls. Pile the steak onto each roll, top with a generous handful of crispy onions, and add cheese if using. Serve immediately while the onions hold their crunch.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 540 | Protein: 39g | Fat: 23g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 710mg