There’s nothing quite as meditative as cooking—it might be the only thing keeping me sane right now! This hearty stew serves five, which is perfect for my current household: me, my cat, my two porcelain dolls that have begun speaking to me, and my porcelain doll that is currently not speaking to me owing to a misunderstanding.
PREP TIME:
30 min, or a few days—what’s the difference?
INGREDIENTS:
• 3 bottles red wine
• 1 pound beef (you may substitute ice cream)
• 6 teaspoons vegetable oil
• 7 teaspoons vegetable oil if you’re feeling naughty
• 2 bay leaves
• 2 Lexapro tablets (crushed)
• 3 1/2 cups beef broth (you may substitute ice cream)
• Some carrots and onions or whatever. It doesn’t matter.
PREPARATION:
• Wash the onions to make sure they’re clean. Everything must be clean! Scrub them vigorously under scalding hot water with Lysol or bleach.
• Drink first bottle of red wine.
• Place the beef (or ice cream) in a large pot. Turn the news on, see a headline, then immediately turn the news off. You don’t need that right now!
• Cook the beef until it is browned on all sides. While doing this, sing Stephen Sondheim’s “Send in the Clowns” to yourself, loudly. Puzzle over why you’re only realizing now, once you’re in quarantine, that you could have pursued singing professionally. Isn’t that rich?
• Slice the onions and add them to the pot. Wait, these aren’t onions, they’re apples. Have they been apples this whole time? Is there that big of a difference between an apple and an onion, anyway?
• Slice the apples and add them to the pot.
• Call your parents and tell them that you are a chef now. Let them know that they should call you Chef, because that is your new name. Learn that your parents left the house today to deposit a check at the bank, even though they are both over sixty. Yell at them until you are all sobbing, then hang up the phone.
• Simmer.
• Add cilantro to the pot. To you, cilantro tastes like soap. But who cares? It’s the end of the world. Hey, add some real soap, too!
• Take everything else that is still in your produce drawer and throw it into the air. Whatever lands in your stew is now part of your stew! Life is random and cruel; so, too, your stew shall be!
• Reduce heat and drink fourth bottle of red wine.
• Feel offended that your cat is mocking your cooking abilities. Tell your cat that you’re under a lot of pressure right now, and she’s not going to get any stew if she calls you a philistine again. It’s hurtful.
• Almost forgot the bay leaves. Add them—to your mouth! They taste very weird. Eat the rest of the bay leaves in your pantry, and also the paprika.
• Receive text message from your parents about your fight from three days ago. Hold on, how long have you been cooking this stew for?
• Almost done! Cover pot for ten minutes, or until you feel like taking the lid off and wearing it as a hat. Ouch, your new hat feels extremely hot on your head!
• Ladle stew among five bowls while calling your parents back and telling them that you love them, to taste.
Buon appetito! Your stew is all done. Put some clothes on and enjoy! ♦
