Veal Scallopini — The Dish You Make When You Need Your Hands to Be Busy

The MRI was Wednesday at 3 PM. I went with him. We drove together to the imaging center in Dedham. Sean filled out the forms. He went in. I sat in the waiting room with a magazine I did not read. Forty minutes. He came out. He said "that was loud." I said "I know." We went home. I made dinner — the chicken piccata, the one I always make when I need to do something with my hands that takes attention, lemon and capers and white wine and butter, over the good pasta. Sean ate two servings. Liam ate the pasta plain. Nora ate the pasta with a single caper, which she picked off her father's plate with deliberation.

Dr. Kim's office said results would go to him by Friday and a call to us either Friday or Monday. His office said "if there is anything urgent, we call immediately. If you do not hear from us by Monday, call us Monday." This is not quite reassuring and not quite unreassuring. It is the wait-and-see standard phrasing of American medicine. I have given this phrasing to patients' families. I know what it means. It means "we will know more soon." That is neutral information. I am holding neutral information.

Thursday was a work day. Friday I was off — Sean took the kids to the beach, my decision to take off had been made before the MRI, and I spent the day gardening and reading and walking to Linda's for an iced tea and back. Linda told me about her neighbor from before, the Powell family, who had moved out in 2012. She told me the story of the Powell mother's cancer and her passing. She did not know she was telling this story to me, the oncology nurse. Linda tells stories without first auditing who she is telling them to, which is a refreshing trait. I listened. The Powell mother had apparently liked Linda's oatmeal raisin cookies. I took a second one from the plate. I listened. When she finished I said "thank you for telling me that." She said "she was a good person." I said "it sounds like it." I drank my tea. I went home. I did not cry. I had not known I needed the detour through someone else's story.

No call Friday. As expected. I am in the "if you do not hear from us by Monday" window. The window is today (Saturday) and Sunday. I am not going to think about the window. I am going to cook the chicken piccata. I am going to watch Liam practice the non-whistle on the back step. I am going to weed the garden. I am going to eat with my family at the table. I am going to go to Mass Sunday morning at St. John's, the Quincy parish, which is five blocks away and which I have been attending since we moved, and which has a priest named Father Murphy who is fine but not Father Donnelly, and whose sermons I half-listen to because my head has been elsewhere.

Nora said "I love you" Friday evening, to me, unprompted. She said "wuff yoo, Mommy." It was her first time. I had been waiting for it without knowing I was waiting for it. I said "I love you too, Nora." She said it back. "Wuff yoo too." She is two and a half. She has used many of the pieces before. She has not assembled the phrase before. The first assembly is a specific moment. I have it now. I will have it for the rest of my life. June. Boston. Our kitchen. Her small voice.

The chicken piccata I described — lemon and capers and white wine and butter, over the good pasta — is a version of this dish, the one I return to whenever I need something that demands just enough attention to quiet the part of my brain that is spinning. Veal scallopini is the same family: thin cutlets pounded flat, a hot pan, a quick sauce built from the fond, acid cutting through the butter. It is not complicated. It requires you to be present. That is the point. If you are standing at the stove tending this, you are not doing the other thing — the counting, the waiting, the listening for the phone. I am giving you the recipe the way I make it.

Veal Scallopini

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 lbs veal cutlets, pounded to 1/4-inch thickness
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour, for dredging
• 1 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
• 1/2 cup dry white wine
• 1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
• 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 large lemon)
• 2 tablespoons capers, drained and rinsed
• 2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped
• Lemon slices, for serving

Instructions

1. Prep the cutlets. Pat the veal cutlets dry with paper towels. Season both sides with salt and pepper. Dredge lightly in flour, shaking off any excess.
2. Sear the veal. Heat 1 tablespoon butter and the olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Working in batches, add the cutlets in a single layer and cook 2 to 3 minutes per side until golden and just cooked through. Transfer to a plate and tent loosely with foil.
3. Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Add the garlic to the pan and cook 30 seconds, stirring, until fragrant. Pour in the white wine and scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Let it reduce by half, about 2 minutes.
4. Finish the sauce. Add the chicken broth and lemon juice. Simmer 3 to 4 minutes until slightly thickened. Stir in the capers and the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter, swirling the pan until the butter is fully incorporated and the sauce is glossy.
5. Return and coat. Nestle the veal cutlets back into the pan. Spoon the sauce over them and let everything warm together for 1 minute. Taste and adjust salt and lemon as needed.
6. Serve. Arrange cutlets on a platter, spoon the remaining pan sauce over the top, and scatter with fresh parsley. Serve immediately with lemon slices alongside, over pasta or with crusty bread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 370 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 19g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 480mg