I wear natural deodorant, but I used to swear by Old Spice Red Zone (for exercising) and Secret Platinum (for every day). In fact, a younger me would have pulled a face at the very thought of using a brand you could find in a Vermont co-op that “takes two weeks to start working”. Once I moved to New York after college, I started treating myself to twice-annual trips to the luxuriously quiet spa on the fifth floor of Henri Bendel for haircuts. I assumed I’d continue as such for years.
And yet three days ago I found myself sitting on a chair on the lawn allowing my husband to take a pair of Amazon-purchased Japanese precision scissors to my hair, leaving me with a chin-length bob—a questionable amount of care having been paid to the task, at best. (As I texted my sisters afterwards, I had to do some “gentle editing” in the bathroom mirror.)
Instead of taking a run first thing every morning, returning home sweaty and breathless and wide-awake (a habit I’ve long considered essential to my mental health), I paddleboard. On calm mornings, I glide across the water, and struggle against heavy currents on windy ones, to the beach across the cove to watch swallows dip playfully above the tall dune grass. After hauling my board back onto the dock, I dive into the cool water and pray that my toes don’t bump up across the (disconcertingly) soft body of a moon jellyfish as I kick.
What else has changed with time? I play the crossword instead of reading before bed and I drink tea in the morning instead of coffee. I haven’t had a margarita—each sweet, burning sip tempered by the salty rim—in months.
When I was younger, the prospect of changing any number of these ordinary things—desires, habits, and so on—would have thrown me off-kilter, or simply seemed impossible. I assumed my likes and dislikes were immutable.
But if life teaches you one thing, it’s that the truly important things will remain steadfast (you, at your core) and everything else will ebb and flow. Fighting against that is an exercise in futility, and wears you out. Going with it is easier and far more interesting. See where it takes you! Consider it the emotional equivalent of swimming in the ocean: when a wave comes, it will make its way to the shore. You can go with the motion, or hurl your body against it. Neither will change the course of the water; one will exhaust you and the other is, well, kind of fun.
And what might happen? You could end up a (nearly) non-deodorant-wearing lady like me—ripe, shall we say. Things could be worse.
I used to hate bell peppers and mushrooms. Whenever I’m home now, I eat my mom’s cracker-thin pizza piled with slivers of red and orange peppers. Almost every night I spread sliced cremini and shiitake mushrooms on a well-oiled sheet pan and cook them until golden and crispy, showering them with salt and eating them by the handful like potato chips.
Until a few years ago, I would never order meat less than well-done. Burgers, steaks, whatever. I still steer clear of anything too rare, but I’ve come around to the payoff in flavor—especially when eating out. At home, I’m getting better at searing steak to the right temperature: pink and juicy with just a hint of red, the coveted crispy bits on the end pieces turning sweet and salty as the sugars in the marinade caramelize.
A good way to make use of steak is in this summer salad—and it’s proof of my changing tastes (and how glad I am for that!).
Grilling is my ideal summertime cooking method: the kitchen stays cool and clean, and all the mess and smoke and heat gets relegated to the backyard.
A quick sear on the grill will also yield the perfect ratio of crispy edges (thanks to the very high heat) and a juicy, medium-rare interior. Marinating the steak in something sweet-ish (in this case, a garlicky honey-soy mixture) will increase both the juiciness and the caramelization.
The steak is quite flavorful, so go ahead and serve it on its own if you like, but here I slice it thinly and plate it over barely steamed (and still toothsome) green beans, grilled zucchini, fresh arugula, and cherry tomatoes—in short, handfuls of all the good stuff in the garden.
Instead of dressing, I dollop a few spoonfuls of romesco sauce: a chunky Spanish sauce made of roasted red peppers, toasted almonds, tomatoes, and olive oil. Seasoned with paprika, it typically has garlic too but I leave it out because there’s plenty for me in the steak marinade. It also often has bread, but I skip that too here for simplicity. I make mine on the chunkier side, but you can also process it into a smoother sauce if you like, or even add more oil or water to thin it into more of a dressing. I imagine mixing it with yogurt would be pretty great as well.
Summer Steak Salad with Romesco Sauce
Serves 2 hungry people
For the romesco sauce
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup blanched slivered almonds, lightly toasted
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup tomato puree or crushed tomatoes
One 8-ounce jar roasted red bell peppers, drained well
2 teaspoons smoked paprika
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
For the steak
1 pound flank steak
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/2 cup honey
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
2 cloves crushed garlic
1/2 cup olive oil
For the salad
4 cups arugula
2 large handfuls green beans
1 cup cherry tomatoes, sliced in half
2 medium zucchini, sliced into thin rounds
Combine all the steak marinade ingredients together in a large bowl and add the steak, tossing to coat. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or ideally overnight.
Heat your grill and whlle it’s getting hot, make the romesco sauce. Combine all the ingredients in a food processor or blender and pulse until chunky.
Remove the steak from the marinade and grill until medium-rare. Toss the zucchini rounds on the grill and give them a quick cook for just a few minutes.
Bring a pot of salted water to boil and toss the green beans in to briefly blanch them, then plunge them into a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking.
Pile the arugula onto a large platter. Top with the zucchini, green beans, and tomatoes. Slice the cooked steak thinly on the diagonal and place on top of the salad. Dollop the romesco sauce over the top.