Fruit Salsa with Lime Tortilla Chips

The restaurant is approaching its final inspections. Health department, fire marshal, building inspector — the bureaucratic gauntlet that every restaurant must run before it can open its doors. Lily is handling it with the composure of a woman who managed a Montrose restaurant for five years and knows the system. James is handling it with the nervous energy of a man who has never dealt with American bureaucracy and finds it mystifying. I am staying out of it because my role — equipment provider, father, investor — does not extend to code compliance. Some things you delegate. This is one.

Work continues. I'm starting to think about the future differently. I'm fifty. I've been selling restaurant equipment for nearly thirty years. The job is good. I'm good at it. But the restaurant changes things — my daughter is in the industry now, my money is in the industry, and the distance between "selling equipment to restaurants" and "watching my daughter run a restaurant" is shrinking. I don't know what that means yet. I'm thinking about it. Thinking is the first step before every decision I've ever made.

Ava is sixteen months and has entered the sentence phase. Not full sentences — two-word combinations that function as complete thoughts. "More cook." "Ong hot." (ông Nội is hot — meaning the smoker, not me, although I choose to be flattered.) "Daddy eat." She's assembling language the way Mai assembles spring rolls: methodically, with purpose, and with occasional creative liberties.

Made a Vietnamese-style grilled whole fish — cá nướng — using a red snapper I picked up at the Vietnamese market. The fish is scored, rubbed with turmeric and salt, stuffed with lemongrass and scallions, and grilled whole over charcoal until the skin blisters and the flesh is flaky and moist. Served with rice paper, herbs, vermicelli, and nuoc cham for wrapping. It's a communal dish — everyone tears pieces of fish and makes their own wraps. The fish disappears fast. The conversation lasts longer than the meal. That's how it should be.

The cá nướng reminded me of something I keep coming back to: the best meals aren’t about the food disappearing, they’re about the conversation that fills the space after. Everyone reaching in, making their own wraps, passing the herbs — that rhythm of communal eating is what I want at every table, not just for a whole grilled fish. This fruit salsa with lime tortilla chips carries that same energy: bright, easy to share, and gone faster than you’d expect, which means Ava had time to say “more cook” at least twice before we called it a night.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

For the Fruit Salsa:
1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and diced small
1 cup fresh mango, peeled and diced small
1/2 cup fresh kiwi (about 2 kiwis), peeled and diced small
1/2 cup fresh pineapple, diced small
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon honey
2 tablespoons fresh mint leaves, finely chopped
Pinch of kosher salt
For the Lime Tortilla Chips:
8 small flour tortillas (6-inch)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 teaspoon lime zest
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat oven to 375°F. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper.
Make the lime sugar. In a small bowl, mix together the granulated sugar, lime zest, and cinnamon until combined and fragrant.
Prepare the tortillas. Brush both sides of each tortilla lightly with melted butter. Sprinkle the lime sugar evenly over one side of each tortilla.
Cut and bake. Stack the tortillas and cut into wedges (6–8 per tortilla). Arrange in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet. Bake for 8–10 minutes, until crisp and just golden at the edges. Watch closely — they go from golden to burnt quickly. Let cool on the pan; they will crisp further as they cool.
Make the salsa. While the chips bake, combine the strawberries, mango, kiwi, and pineapple in a medium bowl. Add the lime juice, honey, and chopped mint. Stir gently to combine. Taste and adjust honey or lime to your preference. Add a pinch of salt to brighten the flavors.
Rest the salsa. Let the salsa sit at room temperature for at least 10 minutes before serving so the juices meld.
Serve communally. Pile the chips on a platter and serve the salsa in a bowl alongside. Let everyone scoop their own.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fruit Salsa with Lime Tortilla Chips — Something to Pass Around the Table