A heat dome this week. Three days at ninety-eight. The kitchen ran without the AC because the AC was overwhelmed. Yoga Tuesday and Thursday at the studio. The classes were full. The body was the body.
Miya, 10, can shape onigiri without falling apart. She uses wet hands. She knows the order without being told. I called Ken in Sacramento. The pauses are longer now. I asked about the daikon. He told me, slowly, about the recent harvest. He grew six. They were perfect.
Shiso salad. Tomatoes from the garden, cucumber, shiso ribbons, sesame dressing. A salad that smells like summer.
The shiso. The chipped bowl. The newsletter on Sunday.
Tomi watered the garden Saturday morning. The shiso was head-high. The shishito peppers were producing. The kabocha was running on the fence.
I read for an hour Sunday night. A book of essays by a Korean-American writer about food and grief. I underlined a paragraph that said exactly what I had been trying to say in the newsletter for months.
I made onigiri for tomorrow's lunch. Three triangles. Salted plum in the center. Wrapped in nori. The cling wrap. The drawer where I keep them. The system.
Coffee with a friend Saturday morning. We talked about books, about kids, about the way our forties became our fifties. The talking is the thing.
Yoga Tuesday morning. The studio in Sellwood. Eight students. The class was the class.
Miya is in elementary school. The Saturday Japanese school continues. She still complains. She is still going.
Made dashi at five-thirty AM. Ten minutes in the kitchen alone with the kombu and the bonito flakes. The day's first prayer.
I wrote at the kitchen table from six to eight. The newsletter was forming. The opening sentence was the hard sentence — they always are. I rewrote it five times. The fifth time was the right time.
I drove to Uwajimaya Wednesday. Kombu, bonito flakes, white miso, a small bag of mochiko for tomorrow's project. The store smells like home.
The cat was the cat. Mochi at fifteen sleeps most of the day. She still eats with enthusiasm. She still sits at the kitchen window watching the back garden.
Sunday farmers market in the rain. The vendors knew me. The Hood River apple stand had honeycrisps. I bought four pounds.
A reader sent me a handwritten card this week. Her grandmother had cooked Japanese food in 1970s Boise. She had felt alone in it. The newsletter, she wrote, made her feel less alone. I taped the card to the wall above my desk.
The neighbor's dog barked at nothing for twenty minutes Sunday afternoon. The neighbor apologized. I told him I had been writing through it and the white noise was helpful. He laughed.
I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. Wiped the counters. Reorganized the drawer where the chopsticks live. Sharpened the knife. The reset was the reset.
I texted Miya a photo of the shiso. She texted back a heart and a single word: home.
Therapy Tuesday. We talked about the wedding. We talked about Barbara. We talked about Fumiko. The hour passed. The work continues.
Miya's old room is now my office. The desk is by the window. The shiso outside. The newsletter in progress. The afternoons are quiet.
The rain in long sheets Tuesday afternoon. I made tea. I watched it from the porch. The cottonwoods on the next block were silver in the wet.
A panic flicker Tuesday evening, brief, manageable. I breathed. I drank water. I went outside and walked around the block. The flicker passed. The body did its work.
The shiso salad had already carried us through most of the week — those tomatoes from the garden, the cucumber, the sesame dressing — but by Saturday I wanted something I could fold up and hand to Miya without a bowl, something that traveled well and asked almost nothing of the kitchen during those ninety-eight-degree afternoons. These Cobb Salad Wraps became exactly that: a way to keep eating fresh and close to the garden without turning the stove on, and honestly, the kind of lunch that feels like a small, generous act toward yourself on a week that asked a lot.
Cobb Salad Wraps
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 large flour tortillas or butter lettuce leaves
- 2 cups chopped romaine lettuce
- 2 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
- 1 cup cooked chicken breast, diced or shredded
- 4 strips bacon, cooked crisp and crumbled
- 1/2 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
- 1/2 avocado, sliced
- 1/4 cup crumbled blue cheese or feta
- 3 tablespoons red wine vinaigrette or ranch dressing
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Instructions
- Prep the fillings. Chop the romaine, halve the cherry tomatoes, slice the eggs and avocado, and crumble the bacon. Arrange all components in separate small piles so assembly is easy.
- Warm the tortillas (optional). If using flour tortillas, warm them in a dry skillet over medium heat for 20–30 seconds per side, or wrap in a damp paper towel and microwave for 15 seconds. Skip this step if using lettuce leaves.
- Dress the greens. Toss the chopped romaine with about half the dressing in a medium bowl. Season lightly with salt and pepper.
- Assemble the wraps. Lay a tortilla or large lettuce leaf flat. Layer dressed romaine down the center, then top with chicken, egg slices, bacon, tomatoes, avocado, and crumbled cheese. Drizzle with the remaining dressing.
- Wrap and serve. Fold in the sides of the tortilla, then roll tightly from the bottom up. Slice in half on a diagonal. Serve immediately, or wrap in parchment for an easy packed lunch.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 390 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 620mg