Crab and Pea Salad

I turned seventy-two this week. September 3, 2027. And the number doesn't matter. The number hasn't mattered since seventy. What matters: the stove is on. The garden is producing. Michael is twenty-one months old and says "gruh" for greens and "ba" for watermelon and "na-na" for the woman who feeds him. Pearl is growing inside Kayla, due in five weeks. Earl Jr.'s surgery is scheduled for next week. The family is alive, all of it, even the parts that are scared and the parts that are growing and the parts that are waiting.

The birthday dinner was small. Denise, Robert, Kayla, Devon, Michael, Monique, James. I made my own cake — the diabetes-modified pound cake, the one that is now the regular cake, the one that tastes like the new normal, which is different from the old normal but is still normal. The cake is fine. The being here is what matters. Seventy-two candles would set the cake on fire, so we used the number candles: seven and two. Michael tried to blow them out. He succeeded on the third try with a spray of toddler saliva that extinguished the candles and also moistened the cake and possibly the table. Nobody complained. When a twenty-one-month-old blows out your birthday candles, the saliva is the love.

Kayla gave me a card. It said: "72 years of feeding us. 72 years of being our center. 72 years of Dorothy Mae Henderson at the stove. Here's to 72 more. Love, Kayla, Devon, Michael, and Pearl (kicking as I write this)." Pearl is kicking. Pearl is alive in there, responding to the world that is waiting for her, kicking against the walls of the womb the way I kick against the walls of age — stubbornly, repeatedly, with the intention of staying.

Made shrimp and grits. Birthday dinner. The same dish every year. The same grits, the same shrimp, the same butter. The dish doesn't age. The dish is the fixed point. The woman who makes it ages, and the kitchen ages, and the family ages, but the dish stays the same, and the same is the comfort, and the comfort is the birthday, and the birthday is just another day of being alive and cooking and saying: I'm still here. Now go on and feed somebody.

Now go on and feed somebody.

The shrimp and grits were the center of the evening — they always are — but the cool, quiet side of the table belonged to this crab and pea salad, the kind of dish that asks nothing of you and gives everything back. I’ve been making some version of it for years alongside the main, because a birthday table needs one thing that doesn’t require tending, something you can set out and forget while you watch Michael blow out the candles a third time. It’s Pearl’s kind of food too, I think — something gentle and ready, waiting for the world the way she is.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 lb lump crab meat, picked over for shells and cartilage
1 1/2 cups frozen sweet peas, thawed
1/2 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons sour cream
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1/3 cup celery, finely diced
3 tablespoons red onion, finely minced
1/2 teaspoon Old Bay seasoning
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Instructions

Prepare the crab. Spread the crab meat on a clean surface and carefully pick through for any remaining shell fragments or cartilage. Handle gently to keep the lump pieces intact.
Make the dressing. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, sour cream, lemon juice, lemon zest, Old Bay seasoning, black pepper, and salt until smooth and fully combined.
Add the vegetables. Stir the thawed peas, diced celery, and minced red onion into the dressing until evenly coated.
Fold in the crab. Add the crab meat to the bowl and fold gently with a rubber spatula, taking care not to break up the lumps. You want the crab to stay tender and present, not shredded.
Chill. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before serving to allow the flavors to come together. The salad can be made up to 4 hours ahead.
Serve. Transfer to a serving dish and scatter the chopped parsley over the top. Serve cold, alongside crusty bread, butter crackers, or as a side to a larger meal.

Nutrition (per serving)

Crab and Pea Salad — The Fixed Point on a Birthday Table