2 Ahi tuna steaks, as sliced, packaged and sold
1 tsp. toasted sesame oil
1 tbsp. canola oil
2 tsp. soy sauce
Salt and pepper to taste

Season both sides of tuna steaks with sesame oil, soy sauce, salt and pepper.

Heat a non-stick pan over medium-high heat.
Add canola oil.

Place tuna steaks in pan, and cook for 3-5 minutes each side until tuna is cooked on the outside, but still pink on the inside.

Cooking and Recipes

by

Samantha Gianulis

Above I have quoted Kendall, my next-door neighbor, now thirteen years old. When she was in elementary school, she was assigned a project on Heroes – the students were asked to write about who their hero was and why. When Kendall’s Hero project was sent home, her mother, Nancy, copied it and slipped the plain, folded 8 ½ x 11 sheet of paper with Kendall’s words into my mailbox. “Sam, I thought you should see this - Nancy” I wouldn’t have guessed I made any kind of impact on her daughter. What was my accomplishment? I wasn’t an ER Trauma nurse, I’m not a decorated service woman, and I didn’t really champion any cause except breastfeeding and shopping local farms. How did this little girl who lived next door come to think of me as her “hero”?

All I ever did was invite Kendall over to play with my kids and feed her whatever I was cooking. Kendall’s parents worked full-time, I didn’t. She was over at our kid-filled, stove-simmering house often enough to see the inner workings of our quirky family. I believed my close-to-yelling voice and laissez-faire parenting style were enough to disqualify me from admiration in anyone’s eyes. Yet, more often than not, Kendall stood next to me in the kitchen as I boiled pasta, seared chicken breasts, and chopped lettuce. She leaned on the kitchen counter with her elbows, hands folded together, talking about kids at her school, her siblings, whatever was on her mind. She was also paying close attention to what I talked about, and feeling as comfortable listening as she did talking. She was her own yin and yang of the proper way to learn.

And on a chilly March evening a few years back, Kendall was over at our house as I seared ahi tuna and prepared couscous. My two kids then, much younger than Kendall, snubbed the dinner I had made, but Kendall sat at my kitchen table, with big, brown eyes fixed on the fish and pasta beads. She was too polite to ask for a serving, but couldn’t hide how badly she wanted to eat. I knew this, because I have always felt overwhelming anticipation and excitement for every meal – no fooling this cook.

“Kendall, you want some, honey? I’ve got plenty of food.” “Okay, if you have extra!” she answered, her young voice punctuated and positive.

The normally talkative grade schooler fell silent in the dining room chair as she sliced the tender ahi steak and scooped couscous onto her fork. I’d never seen anyone clear a plate that quickly except for…me. When she was done, she took her plate to the sink (more than anyone in my family did) and asked, very quietly, “Sam, will you make me that for my birthday?”

Most kids I know want cake or cupcakes for their birthday. Most kids I know don’t ask why canola is better than olive oil for searing. But Kendall is not most kids, and I suspected this first in my kitchen, and confirmed it as I read what she, a ten-year-old girl, had channeled into a Word document, printed out and turned in…about me. I’m hardly hero material, but Kendall perceived super-powers in simple acts played out in genuine daily doses. How beautiful. I know adults who will never get that.

I suppose I didn’t get it, either, because it never occurred to me that while I was going about my everyday business I was doing anything particularly heroic. But who’s to define the term “hero” except for the person who needs one? I opened my door to Kendall, listened as she spoke, fed her Asian-fusion, and these minor things amounted to a major impact.

I am forever humbled by Kendall’s take on me. If she still didn’t come knocking to hang with my now three kids or watch High School Musical with my middle child, I would be afraid I had disappointed her somehow. Her interests have transcended, her walk is more upright, her laugh is more carefree…but she still asks for special meals prepared by me on her birthday. This year it was fresh strawberry cake (she finally asked for a cake).

So, I’m fairly certain when I say the most ordinary things are sometimes the most miraculous. Like reaching out to a child, like writing a paragraph, like fulfilling a role for which you never thought yourself worthy.

What a gift to have the opportunity to make someone feel better, special, or just plain happy by listening, laughing, or cooking. I used to think that my reach only extended as far as my family. But I see in the people who have come and gone, some who have stayed, some who have returned, that without even knowing it’s happening, we help others, or they influence us. Carry us, show us, look to us. Everyday heroes.

These occasions usually find me in, or send me into, my kitchen. I’ve got an army of culinary tools ready for who, and what, life gives me.