By Christmas. My Christmas — Miya is here, the calendar says so, the calendar that governs our lives with the authority of a judge and the inflexibility of a recipe card. Christmas morning: tamagoyaki, rice, miso soup, the Japanese daughter's Christmas breakfast, the ritual that I will not change, the anchor of every December 25th.
Miya opened presents. Books (always from me). A junior chef's knife — a real knife, not a toy, with a rounded tip and a short blade, sized for seven-year-old hands. The knife was the present she asked for. "I want to cut the kabocha myself," she said. The request was practical and symbolic: she wants the independence. She wants the knife work. She wants to be trusted with the sharp things. I am handing her the sharp things. The handing is the parenting. The parenting is the trust.
I called Ken on Christmas. He was eating miso soup — his own, from his own hands, the miso soup he has been making every morning since Fumiko died. His soup is good now. Not great, not Fumiko-great, not Jen-great, but good. The good has taken four years to achieve. The achievement is Ken's alone, the quiet triumph of a man who never cooked, who ate his mother's food for sixty-five years and his daughter's food for five, and then, at sixty-nine, with Parkinson's trembling in his hands, learned to make miso soup. The learning is the love. The trembling hand holding the bowl is the love. The bowl does not spill if you fill it to the brim.
Barbara called from Ashland. Gerald is doing well. The theater is doing Fiddler on the Roof this spring. Barbara talked for twenty minutes about casting decisions and I listened and said "mm-hmm" and the mm-hmming was the Christmas present she wanted: an audience. Barbara has always wanted an audience. I am her best audience. I listen the way dashi listens to kombu: completely, quietly, absorbing everything.
The breakfast was done — the tamagoyaki folded, the miso soup finished, the rice eaten down to the last grain — and I found myself still standing at the counter, thinking about Ken’s trembling hands holding his bowl, about Miya turning her new knife over in her palms, about the way Barbara’s voice filled the phone line the way kombu fills a pot of dashi: slowly, completely. That kind of day asks for something light to carry into the evening, something that comes together without ceremony. This Asian slaw is exactly that — clean and bright and just sharp enough, like a good knife in careful hands.
Asian Slaw
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 4 cups green cabbage, thinly shredded
- 1 cup purple cabbage, thinly shredded
- 1 cup shredded carrots
- 3 green onions, thinly sliced
- 1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
- 2 tablespoons sesame seeds, toasted
- 3 tablespoons rice vinegar
- 2 tablespoons soy sauce
- 1 tablespoon sesame oil
- 1 tablespoon honey or sugar
- 1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1 tablespoon neutral oil (such as avocado or canola)
- Salt and white pepper to taste
Instructions
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the rice vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil, neutral oil, honey, grated ginger, and garlic until smooth and fully combined. Taste and adjust seasoning with salt and white pepper.
- Prep the vegetables. Thinly shred the green and purple cabbage using a sharp knife or mandoline. Combine in a large mixing bowl with the shredded carrots and sliced green onions.
- Dress and toss. Pour the dressing over the vegetable mixture and toss well to coat everything evenly. Let sit for 5 minutes so the cabbage just begins to soften and absorb the flavors.
- Finish and serve. Fold in the fresh cilantro and transfer to a serving bowl. Top with toasted sesame seeds immediately before serving. Serve at room temperature or lightly chilled.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 95 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 11g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 340mg