The fridge was humming like it had something to prove.
Mae hadn’t texted back. The house smelled like rain that wouldn’t commit.
And I needed to chop something. Loudly.
Her Highness calls it “Roasted Carrots and Shallots,” like that’s not just code for “you need something warm, quiet, and forgiving.” I didn’t plan on making it. I was reaching for butter, then saw the bag of carrots slumped in the drawer like they’d given up. That’s how I felt. So we roasted together.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s version is glossy. Like always.
Clean cuts. Uniform length. Shallots halved so politely I could scream. She says to fry the carrot tops, if you’ve got them. Which I didn’t. Of course. Probably would’ve burnt them on purpose anyway.
Her tray is neat. Oil measured. Salt deliberate. Every vegetable spaced like they’re attending a gallery opening. She says to flip them. I didn’t. Not at first.
But I’ll say this: she understands caramelization. That gold-edged thing that happens when you let carrots sit still long enough. Like something good might finally stick to them.
What I Did Differently
Didn’t use safflower oil. Used the end of a bottle of olive oil and a spiteful splash of sesame — don’t ask.
Didn’t flip them until I smelled a little too much brown.
Didn’t dry the carrots properly. They sizzled. I flinched.
And the carrot tops? I didn’t have any.
So I crisped sage leaves I found stuck to the back of the spice shelf. Probably expired. Definitely worth it.
The Way It Happened In My Kitchen
The oven went on because the room was cold and I was colder.
Carrots hit the board like drumsticks. I cut them too hard. Didn’t care.
The shallots made me cry before I even peeled them. Figures.
Tossed everything with oil right on the pan because I didn’t feel like dirtying a bowl. Sprinkled salt like I was casting a spell. Then more. I didn’t measure. You think I measured?
I tapped the side of the Dutch oven while I waited. That old dent’s still there from the night I left. Still catches the light like it’s proud of what it survived.
Mae called halfway through. Asked if I remembered the soup with the carrots and the “onion things.”
I said, “Sort of.”
She said, “Make it again sometime.”
So maybe I will. Maybe this.
Anyway—
The house smelled sweet by the time I pulled them out. Like roasted things and closure. I stood at the counter, ate one with my fingers, burned my tongue. Didn’t mind.
A Few Things I Learned
Carrots lie. They look underdone until they’re not.
Shallots are better when they fall apart.
You can hate everything and still make something good. That felt… important.
What I Did With the Extras
I stood there. Ate four straight off the pan.
Later, I tossed the rest with a spoonful of tahini and cold rice. Not fancy. Just full.
Would I Make It Again?
Yeah.
Maybe next time I won’t be angry.
But maybe that’s the secret.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The tray was still warm when I turned off the light.
The shallots had melted.
So had I, a little.
If you want something messier, I did a leek thing last December that hit harder. Burnt edges. Loud flavor. Same mood.
FAQ’S
Sure, if you’re in a hurry or emotionally unavailable. just know they won’t roast the same. slicker. softer. not worse—just different.
Red onion works. yellow if that’s what you’ve got. it won’t melt quite the same, but it’ll still get sweet around the edges. you’ll survive.
God no. that was just me being chaotic. use olive oil. or butter. or something that won’t start a kitchen fire. it’s flexible.
God no. that was just me being chaotic. use olive oil. or butter. or something that won’t start a kitchen fire. it’s flexible.
She did. didn’t say much. just picked the shallots off and said “these taste fancy.” take that however you like.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Roasted Carrots and Shallots
Description
Warm, sharp, and stubbornly golden. Like the day I made them.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Prep the veg: hacked the carrots into whatever sizes felt fair. didn’t measure. peeled the shallots with my hands still damp from rinsing off the day. tossed them all in oil straight on the pan. salt came after. not sure why. pepper too. didn’t think. just did.
- Roast until something gives: oven at 425. tray shoved in before it was ready. i watched them steam first, then finally catch color. flipped a few. left most. they needed stillness, not supervision. the shallots started to melt. that’s when i knew.
- Fry the garnish (or don’t): didn’t have carrot tops. used old sage. probably last year’s. oil hot, leaves dropped in, crisped like they missed being useful. fished them out with a fork i bent in the dishwasher last month.
- Season everything while it’s hot: salt again. a little more oil. the pan hissed when i moved the carrots. they looked blistered. good-blistered. ready.
- Eat however makes sense: i stood over the pan. didn’t use a plate. mae called while i chewed. the tray was still warm when the house went quiet again.