Stout — Honey Beef Roast — The Week Is Over, the Kitchen Is Ready

The cottonwood seeds in the air. The annual snow-in-summer. A pediatric burn case Tuesday. I came home and made adobo and did not write a blog post.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous. Joseph and Suki sent photos of the kids this week.

I made salmon sinigang Sunday. Reynaldo's recipe. One extra squeeze of tamarind. The recipe is the rope.

I drafted a blog post on Tuesday and almost did not publish it. I published it Friday. The publishing was the practice.

I went to bed Sunday at nine. I slept for ten hours. The sleeping was the inheritance.

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 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.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

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

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

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.

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

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

The grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

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

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

Reynaldo’s sinigang got me through Sunday, but it was the beef roast I put in the oven Saturday morning before the lumpia and the phone calls and the novel that quietly held the rest of the week together — low heat, Dutch oven, the kitchen smelling like something patient and good. When Dr. Reeves talks about love for the future self, I think she means something like this: a meal that asks nothing of you in the evening because you were kind to yourself in the morning. The stout and honey is Reynaldo’s influence too, in a way — he always said fat and sweet and bitter together is the beginning of every real recipe.

Stout & Honey Beef Roast

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 3 hrs 30 min | Total Time: 3 hrs 50 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 3 1/2 lbs beef chuck roast, trimmed
• 1 bottle (12 oz) stout beer
• 3 tablespoons honey
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 large yellow onion, sliced into half-moons
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 medium carrots, cut into 2-inch chunks
• 2 stalks celery, cut into 2-inch chunks
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 1 1/2 cups beef broth
• 1 teaspoon dried thyme
• 1 teaspoon dried rosemary
• 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus more to taste
• 1/2 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

1. Preheat. Heat oven to 325°F. Pat the chuck roast dry with paper towels and season all sides generously with the salt and pepper.
2. Sear the beef. Heat olive oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the roast and sear without moving it for 4–5 minutes per side until a deep brown crust forms. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
3. Build the base. Reduce heat to medium. Add onion, carrots, and celery to the same pot. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes until softened. Add garlic and tomato paste and stir for 1 minute until fragrant.
4. Deglaze. Pour in the stout, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pot. Stir in the honey, Worcestershire sauce, beef broth, thyme, and rosemary. Bring to a gentle simmer.
5. Roast. Nestle the seared beef back into the pot, submerging it halfway into the liquid. Cover tightly and transfer to the oven. Roast for 3 to 3 1/2 hours, turning the roast once halfway through, until the beef is fork-tender and pulls apart easily.
6. Rest and finish. Remove the pot from the oven and let the roast rest uncovered for 10 minutes before slicing or pulling. Skim any excess fat from the surface of the braising liquid and spoon the pan juices generously over the meat to serve.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 430 | Protein: 40g | Fat: 19g | Carbs: 16g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 510mg