By I started spring garden planning with Jack this week. His operation is expanding again: ten tomato plants, eight rows of corn (Kevin has stopped protesting; the corn has won), green beans, peppers, sunflowers, the watermelon project with Marcus, and the new pea trellis that Dad recommended. The backyard is no longer a backyard with a garden. It's a garden with a small section of yard that we haven't planted yet. Kevin is eyeing that section like a man watching territory disappear.
The apple tree has buds. Tiny, tight, green buds on the bare branches, visible only if you look closely, which I do, every morning, the way Jack looks at his seedlings. I'm becoming my son, or maybe he became me first, or maybe we're both becoming Roger, all of us bending toward the soil with the same attention, the same hope, the same need to see something grow.
I made corned beef and cabbage for St. Patrick's. Year four of the annual boil. Kevin ate the potatoes. The kids ate the potatoes. I ate the cabbage. Dad, on the phone, asked if I'd made it and I said yes and he said, "Your mother is making it too." So somewhere in Grinnell, Marlene Weber is also boiling corned beef, and somewhere in Des Moines, I'm also boiling corned beef, and the two pots are simmering ninety minutes apart in two different kitchens and the steam rises from both and carries the same tradition into the same Iowa air.
Noah's been practicing saxophone daily. He's gotten good — not great, not prodigy-level, but good in the way that matters, which is the way that means he works at it because he loves it, not because someone is making him. The jazz band has a spring concert coming up. He's playing a solo. A solo. My quiet, mechanical, robot-building son is going to stand in front of an audience and play a saxophone solo. The range of this kid — the range of any kid, when you let them be who they are instead of who you expect — is something I underestimate every time and am surprised by every time. Noah builds robots and plays jazz. Both are true. Both are him.
I’ve been the cabbage person at the St. Patrick’s Day table for four years running — Kevin eats the potatoes, the kids eat the potatoes, and I eat the cabbage, and I have made peace with this. But this year, thinking about Mom in Grinnell with her own pot going, I wanted to give the cabbage something of its own. This easy cabbage salad is the answer: crisp and bright, the kind of thing that turns a side ingredient into the whole point. It’s a little like the garden back there — you pay attention to it, and it becomes more than you expected.
Easy Cabbage Salad
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 4 cups green cabbage, thinly shredded
- 1 cup purple cabbage, thinly shredded
- 1 cup carrots, grated or julienned
- 3 green onions, thinly sliced
- 1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
- 3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 tablespoon honey
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 1/2 teaspoon celery seed
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Instructions
- Prep the vegetables. Thinly shred the green and purple cabbage and place in a large mixing bowl. Add the grated carrots, sliced green onions, and chopped parsley. Toss together to combine.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the apple cider vinegar, olive oil, honey, Dijon mustard, celery seed, salt, and pepper until fully combined and emulsified.
- Dress the salad. Pour the dressing over the cabbage mixture and toss thoroughly to coat all the vegetables. Taste and adjust seasoning — add a pinch more salt or a splash more vinegar if needed.
- Rest before serving. Let the salad sit for at least 5 to 10 minutes before serving. The cabbage will soften slightly and soak up the dressing, which makes all the difference. Serve immediately or refrigerate for up to 2 days.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 85 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 220mg