The rain came in sideways. off the ocean, under the porch door, all through my knees. I wasn’t planning to cook—didn’t even have socks on both feet—but I opened the freezer anyway. One packet of beef, frostbitten at the edges. I stood there, door open, cold misted fingers. And then I remembered Her Highness’s stew. From that old dog-eared issue that still smells like basement paper. The one Nan marked with a red pen—“too much salt” underlined twice.
So I made it. Or tried.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness’s beef stew reads like a lesson plan.
Beef dusted in flour, browned in waves like a military drill.
Tomato paste and Worcestershire, wine poured in with ceremony. Then the slow oven lull—vegetables added in stages, peas at the end like a polite guest arriving late. Parsley. Always parsley.
It’s the kind of recipe you follow when you want things to go right. I didn’t want that. I wanted heat.
What I Did Differently
Didn’t have red wine. Used the tail end of some white that had been open too long—tasted like apples and regret. Skipped the peas. I always do. And I added a bay leaf because it felt necessary. Like lighting a candle when no one’s coming over.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The beef hissed when it hit the pot, and for a second, it smelled like my dad’s coat. Leather and garlic. He used to crush cloves with his fist—didn’t believe in presses. I do now. My hands are tired.
I used the dented Dutch oven. Of course I did. That pan knows more about me than most people. The night I dropped it, I didn’t cry until the morning after. I still stir toward the dent out of habit.
I browned the meat too fast. The oil snapped. Mae yelled from upstairs about the Wi-Fi. I ignored her.
Tomato paste darkened like memory. Worcestershire hit the heat and it smelled like the roast chicken I made with that sea salt from Provincetown—the one I shouldn’t have shared a bed with, let alone a weekend. Anyway.
The carrots were too soft by the end. The potatoes weren’t. Everything else felt… even. Like the house was sighing with me. I sat on the floor while it cooked. The radiator was humming like a tired song.
A Few Things I Learned
The smell of stewing meat is louder than the rain.
You can forget to stir, and still be forgiven.
Frozen pearl onions have a weird sweetness. I like it more than I thought.
What I Did With the Extras
Mae picked around the carrots and spooned the rest over bread. Didn’t say thanks, but she finished it. I had mine cold the next morning, standing at the stove. No microwave. No bowl.
Would I Make It Again?
Yeah.
When the sky forgets how to stop crying. When I do, too.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The kitchen smelled like something was trying.
So I let it.
If you’re after something warmer, I did a leek thing last December that hit harder.
FAQs
Yeah. but the potatoes get weird. soft in a sad way. i still eat it.
Sometimes. depends on your mood. mine tasted like the rain let up a little.
No. regular ones work. chop ’em rough. i won’t tell Her Highness.
Use broth. or old cider. or skip it. just don’t skip the Worcestershire. it’s the soul.
She ate half. complained about the carrots. called it “soup-adjacent.” i’ll take it.
Check out More Recipes
- Martha Stewart Butternut Squash Lasagna
- Martha Stewart Potato Salad
- Martha Stewart Pumpkin Pie Recipe
- Martha Stewart Apple Crumble
Martha Stewart Beef Stew
Description
Made it for the weather. Stayed for the quiet.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Season and sear: Salt and pepper the beef like it owes you something. flour it just enough so it looks confused. brown it in two batches, don’t crowd it or it’ll steam like a sad sauna. the oil should snap—mine did. mae yelled about the wifi and i almost forgot the second batch.
- Build the base: Once the meat’s out, toss the onions in. don’t rush. they’ll turn golden if you let them. stir in the tomato paste and feel the air shift. that deep smell? it’s something else. add worcestershire and the wine—i used white. too sharp, but it worked. let it bubble down. scrape the bottom. think about the last time you said too much and didn’t apologize.
- Stew and wait: Pour in the broth and tomatoes. put the beef back in, juices too. bring it to a simmer, cover it like a secret. oven at 350°F. an hour and a half of slow heat. maybe you sit on the floor while it cooks. maybe you don’t.
- Veg it up: Pull it out, stir in carrots and potatoes. soft chunks. the kind that fall apart if you look at them wrong. back in the oven. another hour. maybe more. test a piece. burn your tongue. curse. smile.
- Finsh (or don’t): Throw in peas if you’re feeling hopeful. i wasn’t. parsley on top if someone’s watching. otherwise? straight from the pot. no plates. no pressure. just heat and meat and memory.