Stir-Fry Bok Choy with Red Pepper and Broccoli

Thanksgiving prep underway. The lumpia line forming. A quiet shift Saturday — appendicitis, a fishhook in a thumb, a college student's alcohol. The quiet was the gift.

Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made pancit Sunday. The long-life noodle. The Filipino default. The dish you make when you do not know what to make.

A reader wrote me a long email this week about her grandmother's adobo, which differed from mine in every measurement. The differences were the conversation. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

The week held. The kitchen held. The chain holds.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

I had a long phone call with Dr. Reeves on Wednesday. We talked about pacing and rest and the way the body keeps a log of what it has carried. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The body remembers. The mind forgets. The cooking is the bridge." I wrote the line down. The line is now on a sticky note above the kitchen sink.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

I checked email at the kitchen table while the rice cooked. There were one hundred and twenty unread messages. I closed the laptop. The unread can wait.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

The pancit was Sunday’s dish — the long-life noodle, the Filipino default, the one you make when the week has already made too many decisions for you. But by midweek, with the inbox still heavy and Lourdes’s voice still ringing in my ear about proportions, I wanted something fast and high-heat and green. This stir-fry is that. It asks nothing of you but a hot pan and ten minutes, and it gives back something clean and bright — the kind of bowl that does not argue about soy-to-calamansi ratios, and for that, I am grateful.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

4 heads baby bok choy, halved lengthwise
2 cups broccoli florets
1 large red bell pepper, thinly sliced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 tablespoon neutral oil (vegetable or avocado)
1 teaspoon rice vinegar
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds, for serving

Instructions

Prep the vegetables. Wash and halve the bok choy lengthwise, cut broccoli into bite-sized florets, and slice the red bell pepper into thin strips. Set everything near the stove — this goes fast once the pan is hot.
Mix the sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, sesame oil, and rice vinegar. Set aside.
Heat the pan. Heat the neutral oil in a large wok or skillet over high heat until the oil just begins to shimmer and the pan is very hot, about 1 to 2 minutes.
Cook the aromatics. Add the garlic and ginger to the pan and stir-fry for 30 seconds, stirring constantly, until fragrant but not burned.
Add broccoli and pepper. Add the broccoli florets and red pepper strips. Stir-fry over high heat for 3 to 4 minutes, tossing frequently, until the broccoli is bright green and beginning to soften at the edges.
Add the bok choy. Add the bok choy cut-side down and cook for 2 to 3 minutes, turning once, until the leaves are wilted and the stems are just tender-crisp.
Finish with sauce. Pour the sauce over the vegetables and add the red pepper flakes if using. Toss everything together and cook for 1 final minute until the sauce coats the vegetables evenly.
Serve. Transfer to a serving dish and top with toasted sesame seeds. Serve immediately over steamed rice or noodles.

Nutrition (per serving)

Stir-Fry Bok Choy with Red Pepper and Broccoli — The Quick Bowl That Holds the Week