Avocado Corn and Tomato Salad

Memorial Day weekend. School is out and the kitchen is closed and I should be resting but I don't know how to rest, baby. Resting is for people who don't have a garden that needs weeding and a husband who needs feeding and a church that needs cooking for. Resting is a luxury I've never been able to afford, and now that I could technically afford it, I wouldn't know what to do with it. I'd probably just cook anyway.

We went to Bonaventure Cemetery on Saturday. If you've never been to Bonaventure, it's the most beautiful cemetery in America and I will fight anyone who says otherwise. Live oaks draped in Spanish moss, overlooking the Wilmington River, graves going back two hundred years. We visited Michael's grave first. Earl and I stood there together, the way we do every Memorial Day and every birthday and every day I drive past that stretch of I-16 in my mind. Michael Alan Henderson, 1981-1998. Beloved son, father, and friend. Earl doesn't say much at the grave. He puts his hand on the stone and stands there. I talk. I tell Michael about Kayla — how she's becoming a nurse, how she made sweet potato pie, how she's going to be everything he would have been proud of. I tell him about the garden. I tell him about the grandchildren he never met. I talk until I run out of words, and then Earl and I walk back to the car, and neither of us says anything on the ride home because there is nothing to say that the silence doesn't say better.

Then we visited Hattie Pearl and James Sr. They're side by side at Laurel Grove Cemetery, which is where the Black families in Savannah have been buried since before the Civil War. I brought flowers — white carnations for Mama, because they were her favorite, and nothing for Daddy, because he always said flowers were a waste of money, even dead. I talked to Mama. I told her about the garden. I told her the cast iron skillet is still going strong. I told her I miss her in a way that doesn't have words, just a feeling, like reaching for something in a room you know by heart and finding it gone.

For Memorial Day dinner, I made Frogmore stew. Now, the tourists call it Lowcountry boil, but it's Frogmore stew if you're from here, named after the community on St. Helena Island. You get the biggest pot you own — I use the one that could bathe a small child — and you fill it with water, Old Bay seasoning, corn on the cob cut in thirds, red potatoes, smoked sausage, and shrimp. Lots of shrimp. You dump it all on a table covered in newspaper and everybody stands around and eats with their hands. It's loud and messy and perfect.

Denise and Robert came. Kayla came. Miss Corrine came next door with a plate because she could smell it and was not about to be left out. We stood around the table in the yard under the live oak and the Spanish moss and we ate until we couldn't move, and the marsh smelled like salt and shrimp and summer, and I thought: this is what Memorial Day is. Remembering the people you've lost by being fully alive with the people you still have.

Now go on and feed somebody.

The Frogmore stew is the centerpiece — always has been, always will be — but every centerpiece needs something bright sitting next to it, and this avocado corn and tomato salad is what I reach for. Kayla started making it a few years back and now it’s expected, same as the Old Bay and the newspaper on the table. After a day of standing at graves with your heart in your hands, there’s something right about setting a bowl of something cool and colorful down in the middle of a crowd of living people. It doesn’t take long, which is good, because by the time everybody arrives, you’ve already given everything you had at the cemetery — and you need a recipe that meets you where you are.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

3 ears fresh corn, husked (or 3 cups frozen corn, thawed)
2 ripe avocados, diced
1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
1/4 cup red onion, finely diced
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

Instructions

Cook the corn. If using fresh ears, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook corn for 4–5 minutes until just tender. Remove, let cool slightly, then cut kernels off the cob with a sharp knife. If using frozen corn, thaw completely and pat dry.
Prep the produce. Halve the cherry tomatoes and place in a large serving bowl. Dice the red onion and add it in. Dice the avocados last to minimize browning and gently add them to the bowl.
Add the corn. Scatter the corn kernels over the bowl of tomatoes, onion, and avocado. Do not stir yet.
Dress the salad. Drizzle olive oil and lime juice over the top. Sprinkle with salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Using a large spoon or your hands, toss everything together gently — you want the avocado to stay in pieces, not turn to mush.
Finish and serve. Scatter the fresh cilantro over the top. Taste and adjust salt and lime juice as needed. Serve immediately, or refrigerate for up to 1 hour before serving (add avocado just before serving if making ahead).

Nutrition (per serving)

Avocado Corn and Tomato Salad — Something Cool and Bright for a Heavy-Hearted Day