Someone from Nashville wrote to us about a family dinner that didn’t go as planned. One bite ended her mother-in-law’s lifelong hatred of veganism. For all time. This story will make you think about your own kitchen in a new way.
My Mother-in-Law
I need to tell someone this story because I’ve had it for three months and it still makes me laugh and cry at the same time.
Patricia, my mother-in-law, is 61 years old and lives twelve minutes away. She thinks that a meal without meat is not really a meal. She has said this out loud. More than once. At my table for dinner. Without being told to.
About two years ago, my husband Daniel and I became vegans. It wasn’t a big deal, and we didn’t judge anyone else. I had some health problems, and he did it to help me. At some point, we both just felt better and kept going. We don’t force it on anyone. I hope we are the least annoying vegans you have ever met.
Patricia didn’t agree with this. And Patricia, most importantly, has a key to our house.
The Comment That Started It All
She started coming over on weeknights around six. Not every night, but just enough to keep us on our toes.
She would come in while I was cooking, put her bag down on the counter I had just cleaned, and look at the stove like she had just seen a small but serious accident. She’d lift a lid without asking and say, “What’s this?” “Soup with lentils.”
A break. The exact pause of a woman who is being very careful. “I’ll get something on my way home.”
She never said it in a mean way. That was what made it so hard to be really angry. She cares about Daniel. She remembers each and every birthday. She once drove forty minutes in the rain to bring me cold medicine without me asking.
She is not a bad person. She is just someone who thinks that dinner without meat is more like a snack at the cellular level.
The comments kept coming. Not attacks, but observations. The kind that land softly but add up. She said that her friend Carol makes pasta with a meat sauce that Daniel used to like. She asked me out loud if I was getting enough protein.
She asked Daniel once, while I was standing six feet away, if he ever just wanted a real meal. He told her to stop in a kind way. She said she was sorry to him. She didn’t say she was sorry to me.
The Recipe She Said She Would Never Touch
For months, this went on. I tried to make things better. I made more filling meals, like roasted vegetable tacos with cashew crema, rich mushroom stews, and a butternut squash lasagna that took me two hours. She ate politely and said something nice about each one, which was almost worse than criticism because it came with a “but” that Daniel either said right away or later.
By the third month, I had changed in some way. Not really angry. More like a quiet willpower. I stopped cooking to get her approval and started making the thing I make when I need to remember why we eat this way in the first place.
She came over on Tuesday at 6:15, as usual without telling anyone. I was already cooking. I didn’t change anything. I cooked my Spicy Peanut Noodles With Crispy Tofu.
She didn’t know this about the recipe: it doesn’t taste vegan. It doesn’t taste good for you. It tastes like something you’d order at a restaurant at 11 p.m. when you’re starving and just want something that hits every note at once—spicy, sweet, salty, creamy, and with a little crunch that makes you want to eat more.
When you press the tofu right and cook it in a hot pan until the edges are almost too crispy, it doesn’t taste like nothing. It tastes like whatever you put on it, plus the texture, and that feeling of satisfaction when something crunches when you thought it would be soft.
She had one bite. She didn’t say anything. She took one more.
— What is the sauce? — she finally asked.
I said, “Peanut butter, soy sauce, lime juice, garlic, ginger, a little maple syrup, and chilli flakes.”
— That’s all?
— That’s all.
She finished the whole bowl. She moved the last noodles around to get the sauce. She really looked like she was angry with herself and couldn’t stop.
She looked up and said, “I’m not going vegan,” when she was done.
“Yes, I know,” I said.
— But I would eat this again.
That was it. That was the whole win. Four words. I would eat this again. That is a Michelin star from Patricia.
The recipe is for spicy peanut noodles with crispy tofu.
Serves two to three people. In 30 minutes. The kind of dinner that makes people stop talking.
To make the crispy tofu:
1 block (14 oz) of extra-firm tofu and 2 tbsp of soy sauce
1 tablespoon of cornflour
2 tablespoons of oil that doesn’t have a flavour
For the pasta:
8 ounces of noodles of your choice, like rice noodles, spaghetti, or ramen
2 cloves of garlic, chopped up
1 tsp of grated fresh ginger
For the sauce:
3 tablespoons of creamy peanut butter
2 tablespoons of soy sauce
1 tbsp of maple syrup
Lime juice from 1 lime
1 teaspoon of chilli flakes (or more, if you’re being honest)
3–4 tablespoons of warm water to loosen
To finish:
Green onions cut into pieces
Crushed peanuts that have been roasted
If you like it, fresh cilantro
Wedge of lime
Press your tofu for at least 15 minutes
Press your tofu for at least 15 minutes by wrapping it in a clean towel, putting something heavy on top, and leaving it alone. You have to do this step. This is where a lot of people mess up with tofu and then blame it.
Cut it up into cubes. Add soy sauce, let it sit for two minutes, and then toss it with cornflour until it is lightly coated.
Put the oil in a pan and heat it over medium-high heat. It should shimmer before you add the tofu. Put the tofu in a single layer and leave it alone for four minutes. Turn. Three more minutes. The edges should be a real gold colour and look a little scary. Put aside.
Follow the directions on the package to cook your noodles. Whisk together all the sauce ingredients while the food is cooking. Give it a taste. Make changes. Add more lime if it needs to be brighter. If it needs courage, add more chilli.
Add a tiny bit of oil to the same pan you used for the tofu. Sauté the garlic and ginger for 60 seconds, then add the drained noodles and sauce. Toss everything until it is fully coated and shiny.
Put the noodles on a plate. Put the crispy tofu on top, not underneath. If you do, it will get soft and lose its personality. Spread out the green onions, peanuts, and cilantro. Right before you serve it, squeeze lime over everything.
Eat right away. Look at people’s faces.
What I Really Learned
She hugged me longer than usual before she left. Daniel said later, “She sent me a text.” She wants the recipe.
I sent it to her without a note. She sent back a thumbs-up emoji and then, three minutes later, a second message that said, “Don’t tell anyone I asked.”I told everyone.
What I really think happened is that she wasn’t fighting the food. She was having trouble accepting that something she didn’t understand could be good. That someone younger and doing something else might have found something worth trying.
I was that person too. It’s true for all of us. We just don’t always have someone who is willing to put a bowl of peanut noodles in front of us and say, “You don’t have to eat it, but it’s there.” I’m glad I didn’t fight. I’m glad I just made dinner.
Try this recipe if your mother-in-law has strong feelings about your kitchen. Not to prove anything. Just because it’s really, really good.
