By July. The heat arrives in Portland with its annual surprise — every year Portlanders are shocked by the heat, as if they have forgotten that summer includes temperatures above seventy-five, as if the rain is the only weather and everything else is an exception. I am not shocked. I am prepared. The miso soup gives way to cold soba. The oven gives way to the grill pan. The kitchen gives way to the balcony, where we eat dinner at the small table surrounded by shiso and shishito peppers and the smell of herbs warmed by sun.
I made hiyashi chuka — the annual return of cold ramen noodles — and served it on the balcony with the city spread below us, rooftops and trees and the distant haze of summer. Miya ate hers with chopsticks, which she has been using since she was four and now manages with a competence that would satisfy Fumiko, who had opinions about chopstick technique the way most people have opinions about politics: strongly, vocally, and with absolute certainty that she was right.
The shishito peppers are producing. Small, wrinkled, mostly mild with the occasional firecracker — the Russian roulette of Japanese peppers, one in ten hot enough to make your eyes water. Miya and I eat them straight from the pan, blistered in sesame oil and sprinkled with flaky salt, and we dare each other: is this one hot? The game is trust — trusting the pepper, trusting each other, trusting that even if this one burns, the next one will be sweet. The game is a metaphor I don't need to explain.
I am writing essays at night after Miya's bedtime, in the quiet apartment, at the small table that has become my desk and my dining table and my altar and my workshop. The table is four things. I am four things: writer, mother, teacher, daughter. All four things happen at this table. The table holds them all. The table is made of wood and the wood holds weight, more weight than a table should have to hold, but the table does not complain, the table just holds, and the holding is the table's practice, the same as mine.
The shishitos come off the grill pan and onto the table before anything else — always. They don’t wait for the hiyashi chuka to be dressed or the chopsticks to be set. They just appear, still crackling with heat, and Miya and I hover over them before the salt even settles. This mixed vegetables preparation is exactly what we make on those nights: fast, honest, built for a balcony table at dusk, and just unpredictable enough to keep things interesting.
Mixed Vegetables
Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 8 oz shishito peppers, whole
- 1 cup snap peas, trimmed
- 1 cup thin-sliced zucchini (about 1 small)
- 1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
- 1 tablespoon neutral oil (avocado or vegetable)
- 1/2 teaspoon soy sauce
- Flaky sea salt, to finish
- 1 teaspoon toasted sesame seeds (optional)
Instructions
- Heat the pan. Set a cast-iron skillet or heavy grill pan over high heat until very hot, about 2—3 minutes. You want dry, serious heat — this is what blisters the peppers.
- Add the oils. Add the neutral oil and swirl to coat. Add the sesame oil off to the side of the pan so it doesn’t scorch on first contact.
- Blister the shishitos. Add the shishito peppers in a single layer. Do not crowd, do not stir for the first 2 minutes. Let them sit and blister and char. Toss and continue cooking another 2—3 minutes until wrinkled and spotted dark in places.
- Add remaining vegetables. Add the snap peas and zucchini. Toss everything together and cook 2—3 minutes more, just until the snap peas are bright and the zucchini has a little color but still has bite.
- Season and serve. Remove from heat. Drizzle with soy sauce and toss. Transfer to a serving plate or bowl. Finish generously with flaky salt and sesame seeds if using. Serve immediately, straight from the pan.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 85 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 115mg