By Late June. The garden is in full production mode — tomatoes not ready yet but the squash and cucumbers are coming in, and the herbs are thick and fragrant, the basil especially, growing like it's trying to prove something. Made caprese salad from the first cherry tomatoes — tiny, red, burst-in-your-mouth sweet — sliced and layered with fresh mozzarella and basil leaves and olive oil and a pinch of salt. Not Appalachian food. Not Betty's food. But good food, honest food, food that respects the ingredient the way Betty taught me to respect ingredients, and respect doesn't belong to one cuisine, it belongs to all of them.
Clay and Sarah are official. That's what Clay called it — official — which is a word I've never heard Clay use for a relationship because Clay has never had a relationship that lasted long enough to require a word. He brought her to Sunday dinner and she sat at the table and ate my cornbread and laughed at something Connie said and looked at Clay with a look I recognized because I've seen it on Connie's face for thirty-three years — the look of a woman who knows exactly who she's looking at, flaws and all, and is choosing him anyway. Choosing him on purpose. That's the look. The choosing look.
Drove to Evarts Saturday. Betty's garden is smaller this year — she couldn't plant as much, the bending harder, the getting-up harder. But she has tomatoes and beans and squash and the garden is tidy because Betty does not allow untidy gardens the way she does not allow untidy kitchens or untidy grandchildren. I weeded for her and she sat in a lawn chair and supervised, which is what Betty calls sitting and watching and commenting on every weed I pull and every row I miss.
The caprese that afternoon reminded me that the best summer food is barely a recipe at all — it’s just paying attention to what’s good. Fattoush does exactly that: it’s built for the season when the herbs are thick and pushy and the cucumbers are coming in faster than you can eat them, which is exactly where my garden is right now. Betty never made it, but she’d understand it immediately, because the whole point of the dish is the same point she’s been making for eighty-something years — start with something honest and don’t ruin it.
Fattoush Salad
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 2 pita breads, torn into bite-sized pieces
- 3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
- 1/2 teaspoon sumac, plus more for serving
- 1/4 teaspoon salt, divided
- 1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
- 1 English cucumber, quartered lengthwise and sliced
- 4 radishes, thinly sliced
- 4 green onions, thinly sliced
- 1 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves, roughly chopped
- 1/2 cup fresh mint leaves, roughly chopped
- 1 romaine heart, chopped
- 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
- 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
- 1 small garlic clove, minced
- 1/4 teaspoon dried oregano
- Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Instructions
- Toast the pita. Preheat oven to 375°F. Toss torn pita pieces with 1 tablespoon olive oil, 1/4 teaspoon sumac, and a pinch of salt. Spread on a baking sheet and bake 8–10 minutes, turning once, until golden and crisp. Set aside to cool.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil, lemon juice, red wine vinegar, minced garlic, remaining 1/4 teaspoon sumac, oregano, remaining salt, and several grinds of black pepper. Taste and adjust seasoning.
- Assemble the salad. In a large bowl, combine the romaine, cherry tomatoes, cucumber, radishes, and green onions. Add the parsley and mint and toss gently to distribute the herbs throughout.
- Dress and toss. Drizzle the dressing over the salad and toss to coat evenly. Add the toasted pita chips and toss once more, lightly, so the chips stay mostly crisp.
- Serve immediately. Transfer to a platter or serve straight from the bowl. Finish with an extra pinch of sumac over the top.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 220 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 27g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 310mg