Spicy Cashews -- Something Small and Shareable for the Week Ahead

The light at fifteen hours. The body remembering what summer is. A quiet shift Saturday — appendicitis, a fishhook in a thumb, a college student's alcohol. The quiet was the gift.

Lourdes is 76. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made lumpia Saturday. Sixty rolls. I delivered some to Lourdes. The rest went into the freezer for the week.

I wrote the blog post Friday night at the kitchen table while Reyna napped on the couch. The post was short. The post was honest.

I am tired in the seasoned way. The tired is the cost of love. I have been paying the cost. The cost is bearable.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

I checked email at the kitchen table while the rice cooked. There were one hundred and twenty unread messages. I closed the laptop. The unread can wait.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

Sixty lumpia on Saturday, three hundred promised for the typhoon relief fundraiser, caribou stew at the neighbors’ on Thursday — this was a week of feeding and being fed, of kitchens as the small UN. But between the big batches and the borrowed evenings, what I actually reach for is something I can make fast and keep close: spicy cashews, a jar on the counter, ready for the moment between shifts or chapters or phone calls. They are not lumpia. They are not the point. But they are always there, and sometimes that is exactly what the week asks for.

Spicy Cashews

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 2 cups raw whole cashews
• 1 tablespoon olive oil or melted butter
• 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
• 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1 tablespoon brown sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

1. Preheat oven. Heat your oven to 325°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
2. Mix the coating. In a medium bowl, whisk together the olive oil, cayenne, smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, brown sugar, and black pepper until combined.
3. Coat the cashews. Add the cashews to the bowl and toss well until every nut is evenly coated with the spice mixture.
4. Spread and roast. Pour the cashews onto the prepared baking sheet in a single layer. Roast for 12–15 minutes, stirring once halfway through, until the cashews are golden and fragrant. Watch closely in the last few minutes — they can go from toasted to burned quickly.
5. Cool completely. Remove from the oven and let the cashews cool on the pan for at least 10 minutes. They will crisp up as they cool. Do not skip this step.
6. Store. Transfer to an airtight jar or container. They keep at room temperature for up to two weeks — though they rarely last that long.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 210 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 13g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 180mg