Fruit Salad with Apricot Dressing

Alexis called Sunday. Not the regular Sunday — she usually FaceTimes from wherever she is, quick and bright, a flash of scrubs and a hospital hallway and "Hey Granny Dot, love you, gotta go" — but a real call. A long one. She's in Albuquerque this month, which is a place I have never been and do not intend to go because it is dry and far from the ocean and I am a Lowcountry woman down to the marrow. But she told me about the sky there, how it goes on forever, how the sunsets are pink and orange and purple and the air smells like sage and dust. She said she ate green chile on everything. I said, "Baby, that is not food, that is punishment." She laughed. Patricia's youngest has always laughed easy, like the world is a joke she's in on.

She asked me about the garden. She asked me about Pearl and Michael. She asked me what I was cooking. And then she said, quiet, the way people say the thing they actually called to say: "Granny Dot, do you ever get lonely?" I sat with that. I could have said no. I could have said I'm too busy. I could have said I have Denise and Robert and Kayla and the babies and the church and the garden and the cast iron skillet and the memory of every person I have ever loved. But Alexis asked me a real question, so I gave her a real answer. I said, "Every day, sugar. Every single day. But lonely is not the same as alone, and alone is not the same as empty."

She was quiet for a minute. Then she said, "I think I understand that." Alexis is thirty-seven and single and traveling the country healing strangers, and I worry about her the way I worry about a pot left on the stove — not that it will burn, but that nobody is there to eat what's inside it. She has so much to give. She gives it everywhere. I just want somebody to sit down and receive it.

After the call I made peach cobbler. Not for any reason. Not for company. Just because the peaches were soft and the evening was long and sometimes you bake because the conversation is still in your chest and your hands need something to do with the feeling. Gladys's recipe. My recipe. Both. I didn't label them this time. I just ate a bowl on the porch and watched the lightning bugs and missed everyone and was full.

Now go on and feed somebody.

The small monthly grandchild-visits rotate through the small school-year. Earl Jr.’s family comes the small first weekend of the month. Patricia’s family comes the small second weekend. Denise and Kayla drop by the small most-weekends. The small fourth weekend Dorothy has to herself. The small four-week-rotation has held since 2019.

The small seven grandchildren live in the small scatter across the small Southeast. Earl Jr. (the small oldest son) is in Atlanta working for UPS. Patricia (the small daughter) is in Jacksonville with her small husband and three small kids. Michael (the middle son) had been killed in 1998 in the small I-16 accident outside Macon at age 27; his small daughter Kayla had been raised by Dot and Earl and is now a small nurse at Memorial Hospital. Denise (the small youngest daughter) is in Savannah ten minutes away and checks on Dot daily.

The small Southern-cooking tradition is the small kitchen-identity. The small fried chicken on the small Sunday. The small collard greens with the small smoked ham hock cooked low and slow for three hours. The small cornbread baked in the small cast-iron skillet that had been Hattie Pearl’s (Dot’s mother’s) and her mother’s before that. The small biscuits-and-gravy. The small recipes that have been in the family since the small 1920s.

The cobbler was for me — just me, on the porch, with the lightning bugs. But Denise stopped by the next afternoon and I wanted something bright and cold to set in front of her without lighting the oven again, and that is when this fruit salad comes out. Gladys used to make it every summer when the stone fruit was heavy and the air was too thick for baking twice in two days. The apricot dressing is the thing — just a little sweet, a little tart, and it pulls every piece of fruit into the same conversation. Some recipes are for feeling things by yourself. This one is for when somebody finally sits down across from you and you want to give them something good.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 cups fresh peaches, peeled and sliced (about 3 medium peaches)
1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and halved
1 cup fresh blueberries
1 cup seedless red grapes, halved
1 cup cantaloupe, cubed
1 cup fresh pineapple chunks
1/3 cup apricot preserves
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon honey
1/4 teaspoon pure almond extract
Fresh mint leaves, for garnish

Instructions

Prep the fruit. Wash and dry all fruit thoroughly. Peel and slice the peaches, hull and halve the strawberries, cube the cantaloupe, and halve the grapes. Combine all prepared fruit in a large serving bowl.
Make the apricot dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the apricot preserves, fresh lemon juice, honey, and almond extract until smooth and well combined. If the preserves are stiff, warm them briefly in the microwave for 10–15 seconds to loosen before whisking.
Dress the salad. Pour the apricot dressing over the fruit and gently toss to coat every piece. Take your time — you want the dressing to find its way into all of it.
Chill before serving. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 20 minutes to let the flavors settle and the fruit get cold. This salad is best served the same day.
Garnish and serve. Scatter fresh mint leaves over the top just before bringing it to the table. Serve cold, straight from the bowl.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fruit Salad with Apricot Dressing — Something Sweet to Set on the Table When the Feeling Won’t Leave