Vegan Sloppy Joes

The Tarpon Springs Greek community does not let you grieve alone. They bring food. They bring so much food that my Tampa kitchen looks like a Greek restaurant exploded in it — trays of moussaka, containers of avgolemono, bags of koulourakia, enough baklava to put a small village into a sugar coma. Mrs. Konstantinos from church brought over a tray of her famous pastitsio and stood in my doorway for forty minutes telling me about every meal my father ever ate at a church function since 1982.

This is the thing about Greek grief: it is communal. You do not get to be sad alone. Everyone wants to feed you and pray with you and tell you stories about the dead that you have heard seventeen times but you listen again because listening is part of the ritual. Father Christos called to check on me. Three cousins called. Aunt Sophia called twice — her heartburn has migrated to her left arm, she is certain she is dying, the doctor says she is fine. The phone does not stop ringing. The food does not stop arriving. I am drowning in love and casseroles and I do not know if I want it to stop or never stop.

Sophia had a bad week at school — some drama with friends she will not fully explain. She slammed her bedroom door three times on Wednesday, which is a new record. She is thirteen. Everything is the end of the world at thirteen. I remember. I was thirteen in Tarpon Springs and thought I would die without a certain pair of shoes and Nikos said shoes are for walking not for wanting, and I thought he was the most unreasonable man alive. He was. He was also right.

I made keftedes — Greek meatballs with mint and oregano, pan-fried until crispy — because that is what Mama made me when I was thirteen and miserable, and the recipe does not solve the problem but it reminds you that someone loves you enough to stand at a stove. Sophia ate four and did not say thank you, which at thirteen is the same as saying thank you.

I showed a house on Davis Island that had a kitchen with a gas range and marble counters and a window overlooking a garden, and I stood there thinking I could make moussaka here, I could feed twenty people here. Then I remembered I was supposed to be selling it, not adopting it. The clients loved it. They put in an offer. I drove home and made more keftedes and thought about Baba eating them at Mama's table, dipping them in tzatziki and saying nothing, because Nikos expressed love through consumption, not words. I miss that silence. I miss it with every meatball I fry.

There is no recipe for missing someone, but there is this one — not keftedes this time, but something messier, something that spills over the bun and gets on your chin and makes you laugh even when you don’t feel like laughing. I made these vegan sloppy joes on a Thursday when Sophia’s silence felt too loud and I kept mentally furnishing other people’s kitchens instead of living in my own life. They don’t fix anything — lentils simmered in tangy sauce never solved a thirteen-year-old’s mood or a mother’s worry — but standing at the stove, stirring, smelling the ketchup and spices thicken into something warm, reminded me that love is a physical act: the dicing, the simmering, the handing someone a plate without being asked. Here’s how I make them.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 cups brown or green lentils
1 quart vegetable broth, divided
1 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
1/2 green bell pepper (about 3/4 cup diced)
1 medium onion (about 1 cup diced)
4 garlic cloves
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons organic ketchup, divided*
2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon vegan Worcestershire sauce, divided (or use this substitute)
1 teaspoon each mustard powder, onion powder, and chili powder
Hot sauce, to taste
Pickled onions, to serve
Bread and butter pickles, to serve
8 whole wheat buns (make sure they are vegan, use gluten-free as desired)

Instructions

Cook the lentils. In a large saucepan, place the lentils with 3 cups of the vegetable broth, 2 cups water, and 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt. Bring to a rapid simmer. Reduce the heat and simmer uncovered for about 20 to 25 minutes, until the lentils are tender but still hold their shape (start tasting at 15 minutes; the exact timing depends on the heat level and your pan size). Drain the excess liquid.
Prep the vegetables. Once you’ve started the lentils, dice the bell pepper. Dice the onion. Mince the garlic.
Build the sauce. In another large saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium high heat. Add the bell pepper and onion and cook 5 minutes until the onions are translucent. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute. Add vegetable broth, 1 cup ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, mustard powder, onion powder, and chili powder. Simmer for 5 minutes until thickened.
Combine and finish. When the lentils are done, add them to the sauce. Cook on low heat for about 5 minutes. Then remove from the heat and stir in the remaining 2 tablespoons ketchup, 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce, and 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt.
Serve. Serve on a bun with pickled onions and pickles. (If desired, toast the buns prior to serving.) Make ahead: Leftovers save well for 3 to 4 days. Make in advance, refrigerate and then reheat in a saucepan. Add an extra squeeze of ketchup if it seems dry.

Nutrition (per serving)

Vegan Sloppy Joes — Because Sometimes Love Is Standing at the Stove When Words Won’t Come