Fruit Medley Salad

Twenty-eight days to retirement. Started building the transition plan with Debra. Twenty-three accounts to hand off. Some are personal — owners I've known for two decades who will now be on Debra's rotation and who will accept the change because they understand careers end, but who will also call me for the first six months whenever a question comes up that doesn't fit Debra's style. I tell Debra in advance: take the calls, send them to me, I'll handle the cleanup, and after six months they'll stop. She laughed and said, "Bobby, in six months they'll still be calling you. They're going to call you for ten years." She's probably right. The job follows you out the door.

The Houston Chronicle reviewer's piece is rumored to be coming. Someone — Lily won't say who — leaked that the article is being written. The restaurant's line cooks have been on edge all week. Lily called me Wednesday: "Dad, what if it's bad?" I said, "If it's bad, you adjust. If it's good, you adjust. Either way, you adjust." She said, "That's not comforting." I said, "I'm not in the comforting business. I'm in the you-already-cooked-the-food business." She made a noise that was half laugh, half exasperation. Same noise her mother used to make.

Made canh chua (Vietnamese sweet and sour fish soup) Sunday with catfish, tamarind, pineapple, tomatoes, taro stem, bean sprouts, and herbs (rice paddy herb if you can find it, which I can at the Hong Kong Market on Bellaire). The soup is a lighter, summer version of the Vietnamese broth tradition — bright, sour, fragrant, almost refreshing despite being hot. Eaten with white rice and a small dish of pickled chilies. The kind of meal that resets the palate. The kind of meal that makes the heavy summer days feel a little less heavy. I ate it on the back porch as the sun was going down. The smoker was cold. The yard was quiet. The cicadas were starting up. And I thought: twenty-eight more days and then I'm here. All the time. Forever.

The canh chua did what it always does — it cleared everything out and left me quiet. But it got me thinking about the other dish I reach for when the weight of a week needs somewhere to go: a simple fruit medley, cold and bright, the kind of thing you can put together in fifteen minutes while the yard settles around you. Twenty-eight days left, a daughter waiting on a newspaper review, and twenty-three accounts to hand off — some meals aren’t about complexity. Sometimes you just need something honest on the table.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and halved
1 cup blueberries
1 cup red grapes, halved
1 cup green grapes, halved
2 cups cantaloupe, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 cup fresh pineapple chunks
2 kiwis, peeled and sliced into half-moons
2 tablespoons honey
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1/4 cup fresh mint leaves, lightly torn
Pinch of flaky salt

Instructions

Prep the fruit. Wash and dry all fruit thoroughly. Hull and halve the strawberries, halve the grapes, cube the cantaloupe, and slice the kiwis. Add everything to a large mixing bowl.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the honey and fresh lime juice until fully combined. Taste — it should be bright and lightly sweet.
Dress and toss. Drizzle the honey-lime dressing over the fruit. Add the torn mint leaves and a pinch of flaky salt. Toss gently with a large spoon or clean hands, taking care not to crush the softer fruit.
Rest briefly. Let the salad sit at room temperature for 5 minutes so the juices meld and the mint releases its fragrance. Do not skip this step — it makes a difference.
Serve. Transfer to a serving bowl or individual cups. Best eaten the same day, chilled or at cool room temperature. Garnish with a few extra mint leaves if you like.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fruit Medley Salad — The Meal That Resets the Palate