Chickpea Salad Recipe

New Year's 2019. Black-eyed peas, cornbread, the same tradition, the same kitchen. Danny called in the afternoon — not Christmas Day this year, New Year's Day, because he had been tired on Christmas afternoon and had not felt like calling. His voice was thinner than I remember it. Not the words, just the carrying of the words, the breath behind them. He asked about the black-eyed peas. I described them: the ham hock, the cayenne, the cornbread I made in the cast iron skillet. He said: "Good." He said: "Same as every year." I said yes. He said: "Keep doing it the same way." I said I would.

The year starts with that instruction: keep doing it the same way. It sounds like a conservative instruction but it is not. It is an instruction about continuity, about the chain of doing things the same way every year until the doing itself is the tradition and the tradition is the person and the person is still here in the doing even when they are not here to instruct it. I understood this differently on January 1st than I have understood it before. I think I understand it the way Danny wants me to understand it now.

Caleb came for New Year's dinner at Terry's. He has been sober since before the inpatient — the genuine count, not the outpatient count, starts from the morning after the last time, which was in July before he called me. That is six months. Six months of the real thing. He sat at the table and ate black-eyed peas and cornbread and talked about the stomp dances with Danny and Danny asked him three specific questions about the dance forms he had not attended in thirty years, and Caleb answered them, and they had a conversation I could not entirely follow because it involved a tradition I know only at the edges. That is fine. Some conversations belong to the people having them.

Danny’s instruction — keep doing it the same way — stayed with me long after New Year’s dinner. When I want to hold onto that feeling without needing a ham hock or a cast iron skillet, I make this chickpea salad: legumes, bright and simple, the kind of dish that asks almost nothing of you and gives a quiet steadiness back. It’s not black-eyed peas, but it carries the same spirit — humble food made with intention, the sort of thing worth putting on the table when the people you love are sitting around it.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 cans (15 oz each) chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1 English cucumber, diced
1/2 red onion, finely diced
1/2 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped
1/4 cup Kalamata olives, pitted and halved
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 lemon)
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 oz crumbled feta cheese (optional)

Instructions

Drain and dry the chickpeas. Drain and rinse the chickpeas thoroughly under cold water. Spread them on a clean kitchen towel and pat dry — this helps the dressing cling to them rather than slide off.
Prep the vegetables. Halve the cherry tomatoes, dice the cucumber into roughly 1/2-inch pieces, and finely dice the red onion. If the raw onion flavor is strong, soak the diced onion in cold water for 5 minutes, then drain.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, lemon juice, lemon zest, oregano, garlic powder, salt, and pepper until well combined.
Combine. In a large bowl, add the chickpeas, tomatoes, cucumber, red onion, parsley, and olives. Pour the dressing over the top and toss gently until everything is evenly coated.
Taste and adjust. Taste for seasoning and add more salt, lemon juice, or olive oil as needed. The salad should taste bright and well-seasoned.
Finish and serve. Transfer to a serving bowl and top with crumbled feta if using. Serve immediately or refrigerate for up to 2 days — the flavor deepens as it sits.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chickpea Salad Recipe — A Bowl Full of Continuity