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Cucumber and Red Onion Salad — The Side Dish That Disappears First

Father's Day at Steve and Patty's. Ryan's first Father's Day as a father, which he handled with the same calm he handles everything: by arriving prepared and leaving satisfied. He wore Owen in the carrier the entire afternoon and at one point I saw him and Steve standing at the grill talking about something, Steve with his tongs, Ryan with Owen asleep on his chest, two generations of people who love quietly and show up, and I took a photo from the back porch that I am going to print and frame.

Steve was emotional. He did not cry — Steve does not cry in front of witnesses — but he was quieter than usual in the particular way that means something is happening internally that he does not plan to verbalize. He held Nora after dinner and looked at her for a long time and she looked back, which she does, she looks at people with that full considering gaze, and Steve said, very quietly, "she's gonna be something," and that was the most effusive I have heard him about anything since the White Sox 2005 World Series run.

Patty made her coleslaw, the one with apple cider vinegar and celery seed, and Ryan had three servings, which is Ryan's highest form of food compliment. I had two servings. Nora tried to eat the edge of a napkin and was redirected. Owen slept through the entire meal, including the part where Steve accidentally dropped a serving spoon on the concrete patio and the sound echoed across the whole backyard.

We drove home with two sleeping babies in car seats and Ryan put on one of those calm playlists he puts on sometimes and I looked out the window at Chicago in June, which is the best it gets, and I thought: we made it. Not through everything, not close to through everything. But through the NICU and the first four months and this specific June day. Through that. That is enough to celebrate.

Patty’s coleslaw was the thing Ryan kept going back for — three servings, which in our house is the equivalent of a standing ovation — and it got me thinking about that whole category of vinegar-dressed, crisp-vegetable sides that make a cookout feel complete. This cucumber and red onion salad hits that same note: cool, tangy, a little sweet, and somehow better the longer it sits. It’s the kind of dish that disappears quietly while everyone is still talking, and you only notice it’s gone when the bowl is empty and Steve is already back at the grill.

Cucumber and Red Onion Salad

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 40 minutes (includes marinating) | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 2 large English cucumbers, thinly sliced
  • 1 medium red onion, thinly sliced into half-rings
  • 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
  • 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon celery seed (optional, but recommended)
  • 2 tablespoons fresh dill or flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped (optional)

Instructions

  1. Slice the vegetables. Thinly slice the cucumbers into rounds (about 1/8-inch thick) and the red onion into thin half-rings. Add both to a large mixing bowl.
  2. Make the dressing. In a small bowl or measuring cup, whisk together the apple cider vinegar, sugar, salt, pepper, and celery seed until the sugar dissolves completely.
  3. Combine. Pour the dressing over the cucumbers and onions and toss well to coat. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
  4. Marinate. Let the salad sit at room temperature for at least 30 minutes, tossing once or twice, so the cucumbers soften slightly and absorb the dressing. For best results, refrigerate for up to 2 hours before serving.
  5. Finish and serve. Transfer to a serving bowl and scatter fresh dill or parsley over the top if using. Serve cold or at room temperature alongside grilled meats.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 35 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 8g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 200mg

Amanda Kowalczyk
About the cook who shared this
Amanda Kowalczyk
Week 378 of Amanda’s 30-year story · Chicago, Illinois
Amanda is a special ed teacher in Chicago, a mom of three-year-old twins, and a woman who lost her best friend to a fentanyl overdose at twenty-one. She cooks on a budget that would make a Whole Foods cashier weep — feeding a family of four for under seventy-five dollars a week — because she believes good food doesn't require a fancy kitchen or a fancy paycheck. She finished Babcia Rose's gołąbki after the funeral because that's what Babcia would have wanted. That's who Amanda is.

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