Fruit and Rice Salad

The first kayakers on the inlet. The first fishermen on the dock. A Code Blue Wednesday morning that we did not save. I stood in the parking lot for fifteen minutes before I got in my car.

Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one.

I made pancit Sunday. The long-life noodle. The Filipino default. The dish you make when you do not know what to make.

I drafted a blog post on Tuesday and almost did not publish it. I published it Friday. The publishing was the practice.

I sat at the kitchen table Sunday night with the bowl in front of me. The bowl was warm. The bowl was the prayer.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

I sat on the balcony in the cold for ten minutes Sunday night with a cup of broth in my hands. The cold was the cold. The broth was the broth. The body held both.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

The pancit was Sunday’s anchor, but it was this fruit and rice salad I kept making in smaller batches through the week — something cool and bright to follow the warmth of broth, something that did not ask me to stand at the stove. Lourdes used to make a version of this when the summer mangoes were good, and when she called me about that childhood recipe variation, I thought of it again. The bowl does not have to be elaborate to be the prayer. Sometimes the bowl just has to be there.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 cups long-grain white rice, cooked and cooled
1 cup fresh mango, diced (about 1 medium mango)
1 cup fresh pineapple, diced
1/2 cup seedless red grapes, halved
1/2 cup mandarin orange segments (canned, drained, or fresh)
1/4 cup dried cranberries
1/4 cup toasted coconut flakes
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons honey or agave syrup
1 tablespoon fresh mint, thinly sliced
Pinch of salt

Instructions

Cook and cool the rice. Prepare rice according to package directions. Spread onto a sheet pan or large plate and refrigerate until fully cooled, at least 30 minutes. Cold rice is essential — warm rice will make the fruit soggy.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together lime juice, honey, and a pinch of salt until the honey is fully dissolved. Taste and adjust sweetness or acidity as needed.
Combine the fruit. In a large mixing bowl, gently toss together mango, pineapple, grapes, mandarin segments, and dried cranberries.
Add rice and dress. Add the cooled rice to the fruit bowl. Drizzle the dressing over everything and fold gently with a wide spatula until evenly coated, being careful not to break up the rice.
Finish and serve. Scatter toasted coconut flakes and fresh mint over the top. Serve immediately at room temperature, or cover and refrigerate for up to one day. Stir gently and add a squeeze of fresh lime before serving if chilled.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fruit and Rice Salad — The Bowl That Holds the Week