Fried Potato Salad

Mid-April. The week after the wedding. The emotional hangover is mild — a vague soreness, like the day after a long run, the body registering that something significant was processed without incident, the way a stomach registers a large meal without distress. The wedding was the large meal. The processing was the sitting-in-peace. The lack of distress is the achievement.

I made Fumiko's tempura — spring tempura, asparagus and shiso and sweet potato — because tempura is celebration food and the celebration is: I survived the wedding. Not survived in the dramatic sense. Survived in the daily sense: I went, I sat, I felt peace, I came home, I made soup. The survival is the practice. The practice is the survival. The two are the same.

The magazine column this month: "Cooking for One (and a Half)." The essay is about single-motherhood cooking — about the specific joy and logistics of cooking for one adult and one child, about the portions that don't divide evenly, about the meals that produce leftovers that become lunch that become dinner that become the week's food architecture, built from a single Sunday shopping trip and a single Sunday cooking session. The essay is about sufficiency: one pot is enough. One cook is enough. One parent is enough. The enough is the thesis.

Miya has been cooking more independently — simple dishes, onigiri and tamagoyaki and miso soup, the foundations, the things she can make without supervision. She made dinner by herself this week: onigiri, tamagoyaki, and miso soup. The dinner was complete. The dinner was a meal. The dinner was made by a seven-year-old — seven, still seven, August birthday — who walked into the kitchen and said, "I'm making dinner tonight," and I sat at the table and she cooked and the sitting-while-she-cooked was the hardest and most beautiful thing I have done as a parent: the sitting-back, the watching, the trusting. The trusting is the teaching completed. The teaching is the letting-go. The letting-go is the love.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the fried element — the way hot oil transforms something plain into something celebratory, the same alchemy that makes tempura feel like a feast. Fried Potato Salad is that same instinct translated: humble ingredients, a hot pan, and the willingness to let something sit long enough to get golden. It felt right for a week where the achievement was stillness, where the celebration was coming home and cooking without urgency. This is the dish for when the survival is the practice and the practice deserves something warm.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 lbs Yukon gold potatoes, cut into 1-inch cubes
3 tbsp olive oil, divided
1/2 tsp kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 tsp black pepper
4 slices bacon, cut into small pieces
1/4 cup mayonnaise
1 tbsp Dijon mustard
2 tbsp apple cider vinegar
1 tsp sugar
2 stalks celery, thinly sliced
1/4 red onion, thinly sliced
2 tbsp fresh flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped

Instructions

Parboil the potatoes. Place potato cubes in a large pot and cover with cold salted water. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to a simmer and cook until just barely tender when pierced with a fork, about 10–12 minutes. Drain well and spread on a clean kitchen towel to steam-dry for 5 minutes.
Fry the bacon. In a large cast-iron or nonstick skillet over medium heat, cook the bacon pieces until crispy, about 5–6 minutes. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate, leaving the rendered fat in the pan.
Fry the potatoes. Add 2 tbsp olive oil to the bacon fat in the skillet and increase heat to medium-high. Add the dried potato cubes in a single layer (work in batches if needed). Cook undisturbed for 4–5 minutes until a golden crust forms on the bottom, then turn and cook another 3–4 minutes until crispy and golden on all sides. Season with salt and pepper.
Make the dressing. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, apple cider vinegar, sugar, and remaining 1 tbsp olive oil until smooth. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Toss and serve. Add the warm fried potatoes to the dressing along with the celery, red onion, and crumbled bacon. Fold gently to coat — the warmth of the potatoes will loosen the dressing beautifully. Scatter parsley over the top. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fried Potato Salad — When the Celebration Is Simply Coming Home