29 Epic Salad Recipes -- The Salad of August, and the People Who Stay

I baked at 6 AM because the house was too quiet and the oven is the surest way I know to make a house feel inhabited. The oven generates heat, smell, the small ticks of metal expanding, the predictable rise of dough on the counter, the timer I can hear from three rooms away. The oven is, in some real sense, my roommate. I have not told this to my children. They would gently suggest something. The oven and I prefer no suggestions. Erik came over Sunday. He chopped wood for me without being asked — the pile by the back door was getting low, and Erik had noticed, and Erik had brought his ax, and Erik had spent forty-five minutes splitting and stacking and not making a single comment about how the wood needed to be done. He drank coffee. He left. The whole visit was forty-five minutes. It was perfect. Erik is a perfect brother in the specific way of Scandinavian brothers — silent, useful, present. Mamma called Tuesday. Her voice was small but her mind was sharp. She wanted to talk about Pappa, of all people. About the time he fixed her bicycle in 1962. About how he always said "there" when he had finished a job, the same way every time, the small declarative finality. She had not thought of this in years, she said. The memory came to her in the kitchen, while she was peeling an apple. I listened. I did not interrupt. The memory was unprovoked and total. The memory is everything. I cooked Watermelon salad this week. Watermelon, feta, mint, a squeeze of lime. The salad of August — cooling, salty, sweet, sharp. The Damiano Center on Thursday. The pot was bigger than usual — fifty-five gallons. The crowd was bigger than usual. The need does not respect the calendar. There is no holiday from hunger. There is no week off from the soup. We make the soup. They come for the soup. The pattern is reliable. I thought about my own mother today. The full thought of her — Mamma at thirty in the kitchen on Fifth Street, Mamma at sixty in the kitchen on Fifth Street, Mamma at ninety in the kitchen on Fifth Street, Mamma in hospice in 2024 with her eyes closed and her hand in mine. The full arc of a person fits in a single thought, sometimes, if you let it. The thought is the inheritance. The thought is the visit. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. The Damiano Center has changed slowly over the years. The director has changed three times in the period I have volunteered. The volunteer roster has rotated, with new faces every year. The pot — the actual physical fifty-gallon stock pot — has been replaced once. The recipe has not changed. The recipe is a constant. The constancy is the gift the recipe gives to a place where so much else is in flux. It is enough.

I made the watermelon salad on a Tuesday, the same day Mamma called about Pappa and the bicycle and the word “there.” I don’t think that was a coincidence — the salad is cooling and a little sharp, sweet where you don’t expect it, and it asks almost nothing of you, which is exactly what I needed. It belongs to the collection of honest summer salads that don’t perform: watermelon, feta, mint, a squeeze of lime, and the knowledge that August will come again whether or not everyone you love is still in it. The recipe below is the one I return to, every year, without fail.

Watermelon Feta Mint Salad (from 29 Epic Salad Recipes)

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 6 cups seedless watermelon, cut into 1-inch cubes
• 4 oz feta cheese, crumbled
• 1/4 cup fresh mint leaves, torn
• 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 1 lime)
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1/4 teaspoon flaky sea salt
• 1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• Optional: thin-sliced red onion, 1/4 cup

Instructions

1. Cut the watermelon. Slice watermelon into 1-inch cubes and arrange on a wide, shallow serving platter or in a large bowl. Pat gently with a paper towel if very wet.
2. Add the feta and mint. Scatter crumbled feta evenly over the watermelon. Tear the fresh mint leaves and distribute them across the top. If using red onion, add the slices now.
3. Dress the salad. Drizzle olive oil and fresh lime juice over the entire salad. Season with flaky sea salt and black pepper.
4. Serve immediately. This salad is best served right away, while the watermelon is cold and the mint is fresh. If making ahead, hold the dressing and mint until just before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 110 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 13g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 280mg