Grilled Tofu — Because the Pit Was Hot and the Night Wasn’t Done

Father's Day. The second one without Joey. Last year was raw — the wound still fresh, the absence a scream. This year it's different. Not easier. Different. The absence is quieter now, more like a low hum, the way a refrigerator hums and you don't notice it until someone asks, "Do you hear that?" and suddenly you can't hear anything else.

The kids made me cards. Luc's was thoughtful and a little formal — "Dear Dad, thank you for teaching me things and being a good dad. Love, Luc." He's ten and already writing like an engineer: concise, accurate, no unnecessary words. Colette's was elaborate — a crayon drawing of me at the pit, surrounded by smoke and fire and what appears to be a dragon but is actually, she explained, "the gumbo." Rémy's was a handprint in red paint with "DADY" written by Danielle and Rémy's name in the corner, which Rémy claims he wrote himself and which I believe because I believe everything that child tells me.

Danielle gave me a gift that hit me harder than she probably intended: a framed photo of me and Joey, taken at a crawfish boil in Thibodaux in maybe 2003 or 2004. We're standing over the pot, both of us, him on one side and me on the other, and we're laughing. I don't remember what we were laughing about. Probably nothing. Probably everything. He's wearing that Saints cap he wore every day of his life, and I'm young — twenty-one, twenty-two — and thin in the way you're thin before kids and desk work and the gravitational pull of your wife's cornbread. I put the photo on the mantel. I'll look at it every day. Some days it'll make me smile. Some days it'll make me ache. Both are fine. Both are the price of having loved someone well.

I called Mama to wish her a happy Father's Day, which sounds wrong, but she's both now — mother and father, the only parent left, the one who holds the whole thing together. She said she'd already been to Joey's grave. She said she brought flowers — yellow, like the cottage. She said the grass on the plot looks nice. She's the kind of woman who notices if the grass on a grave looks nice, because she's the kind of woman who maintains everything, living and dead, with the same quiet care.

For dinner I grilled — steaks, because Father's Day steaks are a tradition that transcends even Cajun cooking. Ribeyes, thick-cut, seasoned with salt and pepper and nothing else because a good steak doesn't need your interference. I grilled them on the nearly-finished pit — it's functional now, even if the chimney isn't done — and the bricks held heat beautifully, the way brick does, radiating it back evenly so the meat cooks from all sides. Luc stood next to me and I showed him how to check doneness by feel: press the meat, compare it to the base of your thumb. Soft is rare. Firm is well-done. In between is where you want to be. "Like life," I said, and Luc rolled his eyes, because he's ten and doesn't appreciate his father's wisdom yet. He will. They all do, eventually.

After dinner, Rémy climbed into my lap on the porch and fell asleep within minutes, the way only kids can — total, instant, complete surrender to unconsciousness. I sat there holding him, watching the sun go down, thinking about Joey holding me like this on a porch in Thibodaux thirty years ago, and I thought: the chain holds. From his hands to mine. From mine to theirs. The food, the stories, the porch, the sunset. The chain holds.

After the steaks came off the pit and Rémy was already half-asleep in my lap, Danielle pulled the tofu she’d marinated that morning — she always thinks of the people who don’t eat meat, which is one of the ten thousand quiet things she does that I don’t say thank you for enough. The brick held heat the way brick does, even, patient, and the tofu came off with a crust I wasn’t expecting. Simple prep, good fire, same lesson I was teaching Luc all night: don’t overcomplicate it. The grill does the work if you let it.

Grilled Tofu

Prep Time: 15 min (plus 30 min pressing) | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 57 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 blocks (14 oz each) extra-firm tofu
• 3 tablespoons soy sauce
• 2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for the grates
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

1. Press the tofu. Remove tofu from packaging and drain. Wrap each block in a clean kitchen towel or several layers of paper towels, place on a plate, and set a heavy pan on top. Press for at least 30 minutes to remove as much moisture as possible. The drier the tofu, the better the sear.
2. Make the marinade. Whisk together soy sauce, olive oil, lemon juice, minced garlic, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper in a shallow dish or zip-top bag.
3. Slice and marinate. Cut each pressed tofu block crosswise into 4 even slabs, roughly 3/4-inch thick. Add to the marinade and turn to coat. Let sit at room temperature for at least 15 minutes, or refrigerate up to 4 hours. The longer it sits, the deeper the flavor.
4. Heat the grill. Preheat your grill (gas, charcoal, or brick pit) to medium-high heat, around 400°F. Brush the grates generously with oil — tofu will stick to a dry grate.
5. Grill the tofu. Remove tofu slabs from the marinade and place directly on the oiled grates. Grill undisturbed for 5–6 minutes per side, until deep grill marks form and the exterior is firm and slightly charred. Resist moving them early; they’ll release naturally when they’re ready.
6. Rest and serve. Transfer to a platter and let rest for 2 minutes. Serve as-is or with a squeeze of fresh lemon. Good alongside grilled vegetables, rice, or whatever else is coming off the fire.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 195 | Protein: 17g | Fat: 12g | Carbs: 6g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 490mg