If there’s one thing in this world I love more than most things, it’s gravy (especially brown). I don’t care if it comes from a 50 cent packet or if it’s whipped up from a homemade roast that’s been simmering in its own juices for days. I’m going to enjoy it. And, I’m going to eat it poured all over anything that’s edible on my plate.

The first time I drove through Canada was on my move to Alaska when I was 24. Mom was with me because she’d finagled her way on the trip, and we stopped somewhere amongst all the canola fields for lunch. There, on the menu at some local brewery-type place, I saw a food item I’d never seen nor heard of until that moment: Poutine. I read and re-read the description: French fries topped with brown gravy and cheese curds.

How could anything so beautiful exist in a world such as ours? How had this dish not made it down south to Missouri? Would not all of my kinfolk and neighbors eat with glee this GRAVY AND FRENCH FRIES AND CHEESE!!!!!!!!! dish? “God bless Canada!” I screamed as I took a swig of my Labatt and hoisted myself onto the table. No. I didn’t do that. But I sure as shit ordered it and marveled at every bite.

So, it won’t surprise you that I chose the next recipe based on my love of brown gravy.

Well, not just brown gravy. I love potatoes, too. But, really, I loved this recipe because there was nothing to it. I love that it’s simple. It’s something you’d make on a very tight budget that would feel and taste like a hearty meal for the family.

As I’ve been contemplating this recipe and how to present it to you, I first wondered at the word “hash.” We use it in other ways, like, “to hash it out” means to maybe have an argument, but definitely a detailed discussion about a situation or conflict until it reaches a suitable conclusion. Hash browns. Hashish! Why didn’t I know what “hash” even means? So, I began my quest.

Hash, as it pertains to food, comes from the French verb “hacher” which means “to chop.” “Hache” and “hachey” were used as far back in England as the 14th century to describe chopped meats, and there are many different varieties of hash in many countries. Some are here in the states made with pork and offal (guts and innards and stuff) and others are in Denmark and Germany made with about the same random assortment of meats and chopped onions. It’s no surprise that a version of this dish is universal; it’s a good way to use less desirable meats and leftovers and turn them into something fun (?) or at least edible. This is a classic example of a dish created from a situation of needing to eat all of an animal because it’s all you have. What I like is that it’s still obvious in the scarcity of ingredients listed in Melody’s recipe. And the fact that it’s very easy on the pocket book.

All the thoughts about gravy and wondering what “hash” really meant, got me to wonderin’ what “poutine’s” origins are. I mean, not necessarily the dish, but the word itself. And wouldn’t you know it, one idea is that the word comes from a Québécois slang word meaning “mess.” Not so unlike a hash, am I right? Others suggest it’s sort of a modified word for the English “pudding.” To be clear, pudding in England is not in a tiny box and labeled “Banana Flavor.” Pudding is, well, everything as far as I can tell. It can mean dessert. Or a certain type of dessert. It can be sweet or savory. But the most obvious comparison for me (someone who knows very little about British cuisine) is Yorkshire Pudding. It’s something like a popover (milk, flour, egg, cooked in a cupcake tray thing) with beef gravy drizzled on it. It’s possible this makes sense for a French speaker to say “poutine” instead of “pudding.”

Of course, both of these explanations could be total bullshit. But, I like both of them, anyway.

My main concern for the recipe as written by my parents’ longtime neighbor, Melody, was its…brown-ness. No shade to Melody. I did try to make some modifications, and for color, I found some dusty carrots in the fridge and roasted them.

You’ll see below that I tried to jazz up this recipe to give it a bit more flavor, but I also wanted to stay true to its intentions.

So, I give you Beef Hash:

Beef Hash

yield: 6 servings

1 pound of ground beef

1-2 packages of brown gravy mix (I used 1, but wanted more)

8 medium potatoes, diced

1 onion, diced

1 tablespoon garlic powder

1 tablespoon onion powder

1 tablespoon of tomato paste

2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon black pepper

1 teaspoon of paprika

1 cup water (use your best judgement)

-literally any herbs you happen to have around to add some flavor

Brown the meat with the salt and pepper on low to medium heat. Add the onions, tomato paste, paprika, garlic powder, and onion powder nearing the end of cooking time, and cook until the onions are crisp-tender. Add the potatoes and water, cover, and simmer until potatoes are tender, about 15 minutes. (I overcooked mine, so keep an eye on the taters). Meanwhile, make the gravy according to package directions. Stir it into the potato mixture when the potatoes are done, but not overdone. 

Serve with something bright and a *garnish.

Cyrus and Erika really loved it. Gaby and I were… able to eat it. Gaby commented, “Wait, you actually made these potatoes? They weren’t from a frozen bag?” I did not take that as a compliment. Ultimately, if we could taste colors, this would taste like Brown. I drank the better half of a bottle of zinfandel, and that seemed to enhance the flavor.

Chef Gaby‘s rating on a scale of 0-Mexican Casserole: 2.

I have some ideas about how to really enhance this recipe, but I’ll save those for a later time. I do hope you try to make it and tell me how your experience is.

*GARNISH

My favorite restaurant when I was really little was Hildebrand’s in Hermann, Missouri. I’m pretty sure Mom would take me there after dance or gymnastics class. All I really remember eating was all the little half and half plastic cup things I could drink before my mom got uncomfortable, mashed potatoes and brown gravy, and this strangely delicious green sprig of weeds that came on the plate with the rest of the food. I loved eating it and was allowed to take it from Mom’s plate and Dad’s if he happened to be with us. It tasted so green, so fresh. When I asked my mom what it was, she always said, “it’s garnish.”

I was 20 and my girlfriend and I were in a Houston Fiesta, this amazing supermarket in and around Texas, when a man came up to us and asked, “Como se dice perejil en ingles?” And, my girlfriend answered “parsley” while pointing to it. I looked to where they were pointing and saw a mountain of verdant garnish that was still dripping from the automatic spritzer.

“Parsley,” I said aloud.

“Yeah,” she said, “parsley.”

And for once, I kept my mouth totally shut.