By June 2036. Elohi Foods turned eight. Hannah and Denise marked it with a gathering in Tahlequah—not a gala, just a dinner for the producers, the buyers, the advisory group, and some of the Cherokee Nation officials who'd been supportive since the grant. I attended as an advisory member and sat at a table with the Stilwell bean woman and the Chickasaw woman I'd met the year before and Lily and Denise and ate food that had been sourced from the Elohi Foods producer network—everything on the table trackable to a specific family and land and practice.
The bean bread came from the Stilwell beans. The corn dishes came from the Muskogee heritage corn family. The venison had been processed by a family near Stilwell that Elohi Foods had connected to a restaurant buyer in Tulsa. The whole meal was the argument for the organization's existence, served on a plate.
Hannah gave the keynote at the gathering. She talked about what food sovereignty actually meant at the individual producer level: not the political theory but the practical reality of a family that was making a meaningful portion of its income from a traditional practice because there was a market for it now. She told the Stilwell bean woman's story with her permission. By the end of it three people at the table were quietly wiping their eyes including the bean woman herself.
I thought: this is what Danny meant by the food feeding the people. Not just nutrition. The whole of what sustains a community in its own specific form. That's what this dinner was. That's what Elohi Foods is.
Driving home from Tahlequah that evening, I kept thinking about the wholeness of that dinner—how every dish on the table was a living argument for something real. I couldn’t replicate bean bread or heritage corn or Stilwell venison in my own kitchen, but I wanted to cook something that carried that same spirit: ingredients that belong together, colors that mean something, a dish worth bringing to a table full of people you’re proud to sit with. This cranberry orzo spinach salad has become that dish for me—bright and grounded, easy to scale for a crowd, and generous in the way food should be when it’s meant to feed more than just hunger.
Cranberry Orzo Spinach Salad
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 cups dry orzo pasta
- 3 cups fresh baby spinach, roughly chopped
- 3/4 cup dried cranberries
- 1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
- 1/3 cup toasted pecans or walnuts, roughly chopped
- 1/4 cup red onion, finely diced
- 1/2 cup cucumber, diced
- 3 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
- 1 tablespoon honey
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- Salt and black pepper to taste
Instructions
- Cook the orzo. Bring a medium pot of salted water to a boil. Add the orzo and cook according to package directions, about 8–10 minutes, until al dente. Drain and rinse under cold water to stop cooking. Spread on a baking sheet to cool completely.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, red wine vinegar, honey, Dijon mustard, and garlic powder. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.
- Combine the salad. In a large bowl, combine the cooled orzo, spinach, dried cranberries, red onion, and cucumber. Toss gently to distribute evenly.
- Dress and toss. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss until everything is well coated. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.
- Add toppings. Scatter the crumbled feta and toasted pecans over the top. For best texture, add these just before serving rather than tossing them in.
- Rest and serve. Let the salad sit for at least 5 minutes before serving so the flavors can meld. This salad holds well in the refrigerator for up to 2 days—give it a quick toss and add a splash of olive oil if it seems dry after chilling.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 285 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 40g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 180mg