Banana Nut Salad — A Simple Bowl for a Quiet Porch

I made meatballs. Mamma's recipe. I will always make Mamma's recipe. The recipe is Mamma now. I am the recipe carrier. The carrier becomes the recipe. The recipe becomes the carrier. There is no daylight between them anymore. Karin came from Stockholm for the funeral. She slept in the basement. She drank coffee at Mamma's table (Mamma's table is now in my dining room — Erik moved it over when we cleaned out the Fifth Street house; the Kenwood dining room now has both my dining table and Mamma's, pushed together to make a single longer table). Karin said: "It is so strange that the kitchen still smells like her." I said: "I have been baking her bread." Karin understood. Erik called Sunday. He said he was thinking about Lars. He said he had not thought about Lars in a long time, not really thought about him, not the actual Lars, the twenty-year-old in 1979. Mamma's death has unlocked the older grief. Both of them at once. We sat on the phone for forty minutes mostly silent. Erik said: "It is too quiet over here, Linda." I said: "It is too quiet over here, too." We hung up. We were both alone in our too-quiet houses. The aloneness was, somehow, shared. Sophie had her baby. A girl. They named her Ingrid, after Mamma. I drove to Minneapolis. I held her — she was tiny, with the same dark hair Sophie had at birth, with eyes that tracked the room with serious attention. I said in Swedish: Välkommen, lilla Ingrid. Welcome, little Ingrid. I cried. Mamma would have approved. Mamma did approve, in the months before she went, when Sophie told her the plan. The name is the bridge. I cooked Chicken caesar salad this week. Romaine, parmesan, croutons from yesterday's bread, grilled chicken, anchovy-garlic-lemon dressing made in the mortar. Lunch on the porch. Damiano Thursday. A teenage boy came in alone. He was hungry. He did not want to make eye contact. I served him soup. I did not make small talk. He ate two bowls. He left. The not-asking was the gift. The not-asking is sometimes the right form of attention. The teenagers know. The kitchen is the reliquary. I have used this word in the blog before. I am using it again because it is the right word. A reliquary is the container that holds the bones of the saints. The kitchen holds the bones of my saints — Pappa, Lars, Mamma, Paul, Erik, the first Sven, the second Sven. The bones are not literal bones. The bones are the marble slab and the bread pans and the glasses on the shelf and the wooden spoon worn smooth by Mamma's hand. The kitchen holds them. The kitchen is what holds them. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. Sven (whichever Sven I am living with at the moment) has the daily distinction of being the most consistent presence in my life. He follows me from kitchen to porch to bedroom. He sleeps within ten feet of me at all times. He notices when I am sad and he comes to put his head on my knee and the head is heavy and warm and the heaviness is the comfort. The dog is not a person. The dog is the only creature in the house, however, and the dog does the work that another person would do if there were one. The dog is enough. It is enough.

The caesar was a mortar-and-pestle afternoon — anchovy, garlic, lemon, effort — and it was right for that day. But not every day asks for effort. Some days ask for something quieter, something you can put together with one hand while the dog leans against your leg and the bread cools on the counter. This Banana Nut Salad is that kind of recipe: unhurried, a little sweet, grounding in the way that simple food always is when the world has been too loud. I ate it on the porch, same porch, same lake, and it was enough.

Banana Nut Salad

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

• 2 ripe bananas, sliced into rounds
• 1/2 cup walnut halves, roughly chopped
• 1/4 cup celery, thinly sliced
• 1/4 cup red grapes, halved
• 3 tablespoons mayonnaise
• 1 teaspoon honey
• 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
• Pinch of salt
• Lettuce leaves, for serving

Instructions

1. Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, honey, lemon juice, and a pinch of salt until smooth and combined.
2. Combine the salad. In a medium bowl, gently toss the sliced bananas, chopped walnuts, celery, and halved grapes together.
3. Dress and fold. Spoon the dressing over the banana mixture and fold gently so the bananas stay intact and everything is lightly coated.
4. Serve. Arrange lettuce leaves on two plates and spoon the banana nut salad on top. Eat immediately, while the bananas are still firm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 320 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 20g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 130mg