By The lilacs are blooming at Gayle's house. Larry's lilac bush, thirty-six years old, purple and alive and smelling like every April I have ever lived. I stopped by Wednesday on my way home from a Hastings run and the smell hit me from the driveway, and I stood there breathing it in the way you breathe in a church — deliberately, reverently, with the understanding that the air contains something sacred. I cut a branch. The kitchen table had lilacs all week. Josie said, 'It smells like spring,' which is the most obvious and most true thing anyone has said about lilacs, and the obvious truth is the best kind.
The cookbook is progressing. I am writing the 'Home Kitchen' section — the casseroles, the pot roasts, the Sunday dinners, the meals that feed six and cost twelve dollars and take an hour and leave leftovers. I write about the tater tot casserole and the story of Gayle inventing it in 1978, and the story is the recipe and the recipe is the story, and the separation between them is false, because every recipe is a story, and every story is a recipe for something — a meal, a life, a way of being in the world.
Justin is finishing his freshman year strong. His grades are B's — solid, consistent, the academic equivalent of his football play: not flashy, not spectacular, but reliable, present, there when you need them. His counselor told me he is a different kid than the one who started in the fall — more engaged, more willing to try, more likely to raise his hand. The football gave him something. The school built on it. The combination is working. I do not take credit. I take relief.
I made strawberry rhubarb pie — Gayle's rhubarb from the backyard patch, store-bought strawberries, lattice crust. The pie took two hours and was worth every minute. Gayle said the crust was 'slightly overdone,' which means it was perfect, and the 'slightly overdone' is the tradition now, Gayle's critique that is actually a compliment wearing a disguise.
The store-bought strawberries I picked up for Gayle’s pie were so good this week — deep red all the way through, the kind that only show up for about three weeks in April and then disappear until you’ve forgotten how good they were — that I couldn’t let the rest of the carton go to waste in the back of the refrigerator. This salad is what happened to them. It is bright and crisp and a little surprising, the way spring itself is, and it came together in the ten minutes between getting home and starting dinner, which is the kind of recipe I am always chasing and rarely find.
Almond Strawberry Salad
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 6 cups mixed salad greens
- 2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
- 1/2 cup sliced almonds, toasted
- 1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese
- 1/4 small red onion, thinly sliced
- 3 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
- 1 tablespoon honey
- 1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/8 teaspoon black pepper
Instructions
- Toast the almonds. Place sliced almonds in a dry skillet over medium heat. Stir frequently for 3–4 minutes until golden and fragrant. Remove from heat and let cool.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, balsamic vinegar, honey, Dijon mustard, salt, and pepper until well combined.
- Assemble the salad. Add the mixed greens to a large serving bowl. Top with sliced strawberries, red onion, and crumbled feta.
- Add almonds and dress. Scatter the toasted almonds over the salad. Drizzle dressing over the top just before serving and toss gently to coat.
- Serve immediately. This salad is best eaten fresh, before the greens have a chance to wilt from the dressing.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 165 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 12g | Carbs: 11g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 170mg