Fennel Salad with Orange-Balsamic Vinaigrette

Daylight saving. The dark coming on at five. Amazon this week. Sprint planning Tuesday. Two hours of meetings I could have been a Slack message.

Hana, 2, on a step stool stirring miso into broth. She knows the order. She is bilingual already in food vocabulary. Jisoo FaceTimed Tuesday. We made doenjang jjigae together — me in Wallingford, her in Haeundae. Eleven thousand miles. The same soup.

Galbi on the grill Saturday. Marinated short ribs. The Korean barbecue Saturday standard.

Drove to Bellevue Saturday. Karen was tired. I brought soft food. She ate.

The week held. The kitchen held. The two cultures shared the counter.

A blog reader wrote about her own adoptee experience. We exchanged three emails this week.

David came over for Sunday dinner. He brought some tomatoes from the Bellevue garden.

I sat at the kitchen counter at six AM with a notebook and a cup of green tea. Writing time before the house wakes. The pre-light hour is the only writing hour I trust.

James and I had date night Friday. Indian restaurant on 45th. We ate too much. We sat in the car after talking about nothing for an hour. The marriage is the marriage.

My Korean is improving. Slowly. Painfully. Conversationally adequate now. I can argue about kimchi proportions in two languages, which is a milestone in any marriage between mother and daughter.

I made coffee at seven. Hana ate cereal at seven-fifteen. Min wandered down at seven-twenty-five. James left for work at eight. The morning was the morning. The standard.

Sprint review at Amazon Friday. Two hours. I could have been on a podcast.

The shiso on the south fence is fragrant and unruly. I brushed past it taking the compost out and the smell stopped me. The smell is the country. The smell is Jisoo's apartment.

Therapy Tuesday with Dr. Kim. We talked about the parents — the two sets, the one living, the one gone, the one who became real after thirty years and the one who was real my whole life and is now gone. The work is the layered work.

Rain on the porch all afternoon Saturday. The Wallingford rain is its own weather. I sat with a book and a tea and did not move for two hours.

The newsletter went out Sunday morning. The opening sentence took an hour. The piece took five. The piece was what it needed to be.

Reading at night. A novel by a Korean-American writer about a family in 1990s LA. I underlined four sentences. The underlining is the marking-of-the-territory of the soul.

The kimchi crock was bubbling Saturday morning when I checked. The bubbling is the right bubbling. The fermentation knew what it was doing.

Hana left a Lego on the kitchen floor. I stepped on it at two AM. Standard.

Yoga Tuesday morning at the studio. The forward fold released something I had been carrying in the shoulder. The mat is the mat.

I texted Jisoo a photo of the kimchi in the new onggi pot. She replied with the thumb-up emoji and a Korean-language critique. The duality is the gift.

Jisoo sent a photo of the dol the kids did for our visit last summer. The photo went on the fridge.

Sunday farmers market on Wallingford Avenue. The kabocha at the Asian vendor's stall. The shishito peppers. The brokered conversation. We bought too much. We always do.

I read a thread on the Korean Adoptee subreddit Saturday. Some posts brought up old anger. Most are people figuring it out in real time. We are not unique. We are a community.

The galbi had been marinating since Friday night — that part was settled — but Saturday afternoon, standing at the farmers market stall with kabocha and shishito peppers already in the bag, I wanted something sharper alongside it, something that could hold its own against the sweetness of the marinade without competing. Fennel was there at the corner vendor, pale and feathery, and it clicked. This salad has been the quiet answer to that question for the last three galbi Saturdays in a row: acid, crunch, citrus, done in ten minutes while the grill heats. Two cultures sharing the counter extends to two flavor registers sharing the plate.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 medium fennel bulbs, trimmed, halved, and very thinly sliced (fronds reserved)
2 navel oranges, peeled and segmented (juice reserved)
1/4 red onion, very thinly sliced
3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons reserved orange juice
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons roughly chopped fennel fronds, for garnish

Instructions

Prep the fennel. Trim the stalks from the fennel bulbs and reserve the feathery fronds. Halve each bulb through the core, then use a mandoline or a sharp knife to slice as thinly as possible. Place sliced fennel in a large bowl and submerge briefly in ice water for 5 minutes to crisp; drain well and pat dry.
Prep the oranges. Working over a small bowl to catch the juice, segment the peeled oranges by cutting between the membranes. Set segments aside and reserve 2 tablespoons of the collected juice for the dressing.
Make the vinaigrette. In a small jar or bowl, combine balsamic vinegar, reserved orange juice, honey, and Dijon mustard. Whisk in the olive oil in a steady stream until emulsified. Season with salt and pepper.
Assemble. Combine the drained fennel, orange segments, and red onion in the large bowl. Drizzle with vinaigrette and toss gently to coat. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
Garnish and serve. Transfer to a serving platter or individual plates. Scatter chopped fennel fronds over the top. Serve immediately alongside galbi or at room temperature within 30 minutes.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fennel Salad with Orange-Balsamic Vinaigrette — The Side Dish That Earned Its Place at the Galbi Table