June has arrived and Portland is performing its annual miracle — the transformation from gray, dripping city to the most beautiful place on earth. The sun came out on Wednesday and stayed, and the whole city went slightly mad with it. People sat on sidewalks. Someone played a banjo on the Hawthorne Bridge. I took Miya to the park and lay on a blanket and watched her stare at leaves moving against the sky, which is apparently the most interesting thing a four-month-old has ever seen.
I am teaching yoga four mornings a week now, which is close to my pre-baby schedule. The studio gave me the 9:30 AM slot, which works because Brian watches Miya before he leaves for work at eleven. This arrangement requires precision timing and a willingness to sprint home from the studio, still sweaty, to take a hungry baby from an increasingly impatient husband. It is not elegant, but it functions.
I made chirashi sushi this week — the scattered sushi bowl that Fumiko makes for special occasions but that I make for Tuesdays because sometimes a Tuesday needs to feel special. Sushi rice seasoned with vinegar, sugar, and salt, topped with whatever I have: sliced cucumber, avocado, a little smoked salmon from the fish counter, shredded nori, sesame seeds, pickled ginger. It is beautiful food — colorful and arranged and intentional — and making it feels like composing a small painting. I took a photo for the blog. The comments said it looked too pretty to eat, which is the highest compliment food can receive and also slightly misses the point, because the whole purpose of beauty in food is that it is temporary. You make it. You eat it. You make it again. The impermanence is the art.
Brian and I had a good night. He came home at a reasonable hour, sober, and we sat on the apartment balcony while Miya slept in her crib inside and we talked about nothing important — a podcast he listened to, a yoga retreat I am considering, whether we should repaint the kitchen. It was so ordinary. It was so nice. I forget sometimes that we can still do this, that underneath the exhaustion and the anxiety and the different-countries feeling, there is a version of us that just sits on a balcony and talks. I want that version to win. I am not confident it will.
The shiso is six inches tall and the leaves are big enough to use. I picked two and put them in the chirashi bowl and the taste — green, herbaceous, faintly minty — was Fumiko. Pure Fumiko. I sat at the counter and missed her so much it felt physical, which is absurd because she is alive and well in Sacramento and I talked to her three days ago. But you can miss the proximity of someone even when they exist. You can grieve a distance that is not yet permanent.
The chirashi bowl I described above — that small painted thing I composed and photographed and ate alone at the counter with two leaves of shiso — is not so different from this Avocado & Citrus “Ceviche,” which I’ve been making on the same kinds of Tuesdays ever since. It has that same quality I keep chasing: bright, arranged, intentional — food that asks something of you before you eat it. If you don’t have sushi rice or smoked salmon on hand, this is the bowl I reach for instead, and it never feels like a compromise.
Avocado & Citrus "Ceviche"
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 2
Ingredients
- 2 ripe avocados, diced into 3/4-inch cubes
- 1 large navel orange, supremed and cut into bite-sized pieces
- 1 grapefruit, supremed and cut into bite-sized pieces
- 1 lime, juiced (about 2 tablespoons)
- 1/2 small cucumber, thinly sliced into half-moons
- 1/4 small red onion, very thinly sliced
- 1 small jalapeño, seeded and minced (optional)
- 2 tablespoons fresh cilantro leaves, roughly torn
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1/2 teaspoon flaky sea salt, plus more to taste
- Pinch of red pepper flakes
- Sesame seeds and sliced scallions, to serve
Instructions
- Macerate the onion. Place the sliced red onion in a small bowl with the lime juice and a pinch of salt. Let sit for 5–10 minutes while you prepare the remaining ingredients. This softens the raw bite and turns the onion a beautiful pink.
- Supreme the citrus. Using a sharp knife, cut the top and bottom off the orange and grapefruit, then slice away the peel and pith following the curve of the fruit. Cut between the membranes to release the segments. Work over a bowl to catch any juice — add that juice to the lime mixture.
- Compose the bowl. Arrange the diced avocado, citrus segments, and cucumber slices in a wide, shallow bowl. Scatter the macerated red onion over the top, spooning the lime-citrus juice over everything as a light dressing.
- Dress and finish. Drizzle the olive oil over the bowl. Add the minced jalapeño if using, the torn cilantro, red pepper flakes, and flaky salt. Taste and adjust seasoning — it should be bright, a little creamy from the avocado, and just barely dressed.
- Serve immediately. Top with sesame seeds and scallions and bring it to the table. This is food meant to be eaten before it changes — the avocado will brown and the citrus will soften. Eat it now. That’s the whole point.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 28g | Fiber: 10g | Sodium: 310mg