Stuffed Potato Skins

I started calling Linda every day. Not because I have anything to say — most days I don't. I call her on my drive to the brewery or on my lunch break or walking home from the bar with the guys. "Hey, Mom. How are you? Good. Okay. Love you. Bye." That's the whole call. Sometimes it's ninety seconds. Sometimes she talks for twenty minutes about the church bake sale or the garden or what she saw on the news. It doesn't matter what we talk about. It matters that I call. It matters that I say the words.

Tom noticed. He didn't say anything directly — Tom never says anything directly — but he told Megan, who told me, that Tom said, "Jake calls his mother every day now." That's it. That's the whole report. But the way Megan told me, I could hear something underneath it. Pride, maybe. Or recognition. Or the slow acknowledgment that the Kowalski men are evolving, one phone call at a time.

The Packers are in full swing and Tom and I watch every game. This is our thing — it has always been our thing — but it feels different now. Since Linda's diagnosis, since the terror, since the remission, the Sundays with Tom feel less like routine and more like gratitude. I am grateful for the recliner and the couch and the beer and the brats and my father's opinions about defensive formations. I am grateful for all of it.

Made a braised short rib this week — bone-in, braised in red wine and beef stock with onions, carrots, and garlic, cooked low and slow for four hours until the meat falls off the bone. It's a Sunday meal. The kind of meal that fills the apartment with steam and richness and the promise that dinner will be worth the wait. Megan said, "Why don't you make this every week?" Because it takes four hours. Because good things take time. Because I'm a brewer and I know that the wait is part of the flavor.

The short ribs are the Sunday centerpiece, but it’s the stuff before kickoff that keeps Tom and me honest — the snacks on the coffee table, the crinkle of foil, the easy ritual of sitting down before the game even starts. These stuffed potato skins are that pre-game, every time: crispy-edged, loaded, and done before the first whistle. Since Linda’s remission, I don’t take a single one of those Sundays for granted, and neither does the spread I put out for them.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 1 hr | Total Time: 1 hr 20 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

4 large russet potatoes, scrubbed
3 tablespoons olive oil or melted butter
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
6 strips bacon, cooked until crisp and crumbled
1/4 cup sour cream, for serving
3 green onions, thinly sliced, for serving

Instructions

Bake the potatoes. Preheat oven to 400°F. Pierce each potato several times with a fork, place directly on the oven rack, and bake 50–55 minutes until completely tender when pierced. Remove and let cool 10 minutes.
Halve and scoop. Cut each potato in half lengthwise. Using a spoon, scoop out the flesh, leaving a shell about 1/4 inch thick. Reserve the scooped potato for another use.
Season the skins. Brush both the inside and outside of each shell with olive oil or butter. Season with salt, pepper, and garlic powder.
Crisp the skins. Arrange skins cut-side down on a baking sheet. Raise oven temperature to 425°F and bake 8–10 minutes until the edges are golden and crispy.
Load and melt. Flip the skins cut-side up. Divide the shredded cheddar evenly among the skins, then top with crumbled bacon. Return to the oven for 5–7 minutes until the cheese is fully melted and bubbling.
Serve. Transfer to a platter. Top each skin with a small dollop of sour cream and a pinch of sliced green onions. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Stuffed Potato Skins — What We Eat When the Game Is More Than Just a Game