Labor Day in the desert. We grilled. Ryan grilled. In 100 degrees. On a concrete patio. With a baby pool for Caleb to sit in while we cooked.
The baby pool was the only civilized element of the cookout. Caleb sat in six inches of water and splashed and said 'WAWA' (water — new word) and ate watermelon chunks that I floated in the pool like fruit lily pads. Meanwhile, Ryan stood at the grill in the Mojave sun and sweated through his shirt and produced hamburgers with the grim determination of a man who will grill on Labor Day even if Labor Day is on the surface of the sun.
Tamara and her family came over. Patricia and her husband came. Six adults, four children, one baby pool, one grill, 100 degrees. The smallest, hottest, weirdest cookout I've ever attended. And somehow — somehow — it was perfect.
I made Mom's potato salad and her baked beans. The staples. The holiday sides. In the desert, the sides are what matter because the heat makes elaborate cooking impossible and the sides are what people remember.
The blog has been featuring 'Desert Cooking' as a regular series — weekly posts about cooking in extreme conditions. The posts have attracted an audience beyond military wives: people in Arizona, Nevada, West Texas, anyone living in heat and dealing with the specific challenges of desert cooking (ovens that heat up apartments, produce that wilts in transit, the impossibility of baking bread when the air is so dry the dough cracks).
I'm solving problems I didn't know existed. The bread problem: add more water and cover the dough with a damp cloth during rising. The salad problem: prep everything cold and dress at the last second. The oven problem: crockpot everything.
The desert is making me a better cook. Not because the food is better here — it's objectively worse, limited by the commissary and the heat and the isolation. But because the constraints force creativity. You can't rely on good ingredients. You have to rely on technique. On knowledge. On the foundational skills that Mom taught me: salt, patience, heat control, and the willingness to adapt.
Made watermelon salad tonight — a desert recipe I invented. Watermelon cubes, feta cheese, mint, lime juice, a pinch of salt. Cold, refreshing, requires zero cooking. A recipe born of necessity: it's too hot to cook, there's watermelon at the commissary, and feta and mint are the only fresh things in the fridge.
Desert cooking. Constraint cooking. The cooking of 'what do I have and how do I make it work?'
Mom's whole philosophy, applied to Mars.
That watermelon salad I threw together—watermelon, feta, mint, lime, done—reminded me that the best desert recipes are the ones that ask nothing of you except a knife and a cold fridge. This Easy Orange and Red Onion Salad lives in exactly that same spirit: bright, no-heat, ready in ten minutes, and somehow more satisfying than anything I spent an hour on. It’s the kind of recipe Mom’s philosophy was built for—good ingredients, honest technique, zero tolerance for unnecessary suffering in a 100-degree kitchen.
Easy Orange and Red Onion Salad
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 10 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 large navel oranges, peeled and sliced into rounds or segments
- 1/2 medium red onion, very thinly sliced
- 2 tablespoons fresh mint leaves, torn
- 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice (or white wine vinegar)
- 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- Optional: pinch of crushed red pepper flakes
- Optional: 2 tablespoons crumbled feta cheese
Instructions
- Slice the oranges. Cut the peel and white pith away from each orange. Slice into 1/4-inch rounds or pull into segments. Arrange on a large flat plate or shallow bowl.
- Prep the onion. Slice the red onion as thinly as possible—a mandoline works great here, but a sharp knife is fine. Scatter the slices evenly over the oranges.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, lemon juice, salt, and pepper until combined.
- Dress and finish. Drizzle the dressing over the salad. Scatter the torn mint leaves on top. Add feta and red pepper flakes if using.
- Serve immediately. This salad is best eaten right away while the oranges are cold and the mint is fresh. If prepping ahead, hold the dressing and mint separately and combine at the last second.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 130 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 18g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 150mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 233 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.