Teriyaki Shish Kabobs

Saturday March eighth. Nine years since Sangin. The drive to the cottonwood spot below the river. The truck. Three hours sitting. The thermos of coffee. The stillness. Linda called me Saturday evening. We talked for an hour. She wanted to know about Maggie. I told her. I told her about Marcus holding the baby. She got quiet. She said, Ryan, that boy is going to make it. She said, Because of you. I said, Linda, he is going to make it because of him. She said, Yes, Ryan. She said, And because of you. We did not argue. She said, Tell Maggie hello from her aunt Linda. I said, I will. She is, in fact, an aunt. She has been the aunt of the children I never had since 2019. Now she is the aunt of a child I do not have but who is in our family. The titles are flexible. The bonds are not.

Nine years. The math is at nine years now. Nine actual years since I sat on the dirt floor of a Helmand patrol base with Derek's blood drying on my sleeve and the ringing in my ears that took six weeks to clear and the certainty that I would never be the same, which was correct. I am not the same. I am, at nine years, a different person than I was at three years. At three years I was holding on. At nine years I am building. The cottonwood spot is part of the building. The not-drinking is the floor of the building. The cooking, the ranch, Maggie, Mom, Patrick, Marcus, the men around the Saturday fire — those are the rooms. The building has rooms now. At three years it had a foundation and the start of one wall.

Calving for the regular spring group started Wednesday. Three calves Wednesday, four Thursday, two Friday, three Saturday. All healthy. The cows are good mothers and the weather has been kind — fifty in the afternoons, twenty-five at night, no storms — and the calves are dropping in fields that are already showing green at the south edges. An easy calving year so far. Knock the wood, etcetera.

Patrick walked to the calving shed Friday morning to look at the new calves. He used his cane and Mom went with him. He stood at the gate for ten minutes and watched a heifer with her hour-old bull calf. He said, Good cow. He said, Good calf. He said nothing else. He walked back to the house with Mom on his arm. He sat in his chair for three hours after. The walk had taken something out of him. But he had walked it. Some things are worth what they take. The calving shed in March is one of those things.

Cooked Wednesday a pot of corned beef and cabbage early because Saint Patrick's is in a week and the beef had been brining since Monday and the brine was ready. Three pounds of brisket from the cull cow, brined with kosher salt and pickling spice and brown sugar for ten days, then simmered three hours with cabbage and potatoes and carrots and the last of the rutabaga from the cellar. The corned beef came out salty and tender and pink and the cabbage was sweet from the brine and the meal was the meal Mom's grandmother served on Saint Patrick's for forty years and that I now make every March in honor of a man who is technically not Irish (Mom's side is German) but who is Irish enough by marriage and by nature and by sixty-nine years of putting up with my mother's cooking traditions. Patrick had two slices of beef. He said, This is right. Mom said, He has been waiting for this all month. I had not known. I will note it. Saint Patrick's next week — I will make it again on the actual day. Saturday cookout was eight men. Marcus made one hundred seventy-one days. The fire helps. The corned beef helps. Linda calling me on March eighth helps most of all.

The corned beef had done its work on Wednesday — Patrick had two slices and said it was right, and that was enough. Saturday was a different kind of meal, the kind that belongs to a fire and eight men standing around it. Marcus made one hundred seventy-one days, and when a man hits that mark you put something on the fire worth standing around. These teriyaki kabobs are what I reach for when the headcount goes up and the occasion calls for something that feeds people without making them sit down — something you can hold in your hand while the wood burns low and the conversation goes wherever it needs to go.

Prep Time: 20 min + 2 hr marinating | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 2 hr 35 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 lbs beef sirloin or top round, cut into 1 1/2-inch cubes
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/4 cup brown sugar, packed
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons rice vinegar or apple cider vinegar
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated (or 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger)
1 teaspoon sesame oil
2 bell peppers (red and green), cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
1 large onion, cut into wedges
1 zucchini, sliced into 3/4-inch rounds
8 oz whole button mushrooms, stems trimmed
8–10 metal or soaked wooden skewers

Instructions

Make the marinade. Whisk together soy sauce, brown sugar, vegetable oil, vinegar, garlic, ginger, and sesame oil in a bowl until the sugar dissolves.
Marinate the beef. Add beef cubes to the marinade, turning to coat. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or up to overnight. The longer it sits, the deeper the flavor.
Prep the vegetables. Cut peppers, onion, zucchini, and mushrooms into similar-sized pieces so everything cooks evenly. Pat vegetables dry before skewering.
Build the skewers. Thread beef and vegetables onto skewers, alternating meat with peppers, onion, zucchini, and mushrooms. Leave a small gap between pieces to allow even heat.
Grill over medium-high heat. Cook kabobs over a hot grill or open fire, turning every 3–4 minutes, until beef reaches your preferred doneness — about 12–15 minutes total for medium. The marinade will caramelize on the outside; that char is the point.
Rest and serve. Pull kabobs from the heat and let them rest 3 minutes before serving. Serve directly off the skewer or slide onto a plate alongside rice or grilled bread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Teriyaki Shish Kabobs — What We Put on the Fire When Eight Men Show Up on a Saturday