Fruity Apple Salad — The Sweetness That Carries Forward

Mamma's bread pans are on the shelf where they have always been — the rectangular tin one for limpa, the round enameled one for cardamom, the small loaf pan for the test batches she made on Tuesdays. I use them. The using is the keeping. Every time I knead bread in her bowl with her wooden spoon and slide the loaf into her pan, she is in the kitchen with me. She is not. She is. Both things. Gerald at the Damiano Center asked about Mamma. I said she was gone. He hugged me. The hug was longer than I expected. Gerald is a thoughtful man and not a hugger by inclination, and the hug from him was a weighted thing. He said, "Linda, my mother died when I was nine and I have missed her every day since." He said: "It does not stop. But it changes." I said: "I know." We kept ladling soup. Forty more bowls. The hug was over. The work continued. Sophie is showing now. The baby is due in summer. She is naming her Ingrid. The name was a gift, given to me at the worst time, which is also the right time. Mamma would approve. Mamma did, in fact, know — Sophie told her in October, before Mamma's mind started slipping at the end. Mamma had cried. Mamma had said, "Sophie, that is the right thing." The right thing carries forward. I cooked Caramel apple cake this week. An apple cake with a caramel glaze poured over while still warm. The glaze sets into a thin lacquer. The cake stays moist for a week. I made the soup. Fifty gallons. I served the soup. A hundred and twelve plates. I came home tired. I came home good-tired. The Thursday tired. The right tired. I sat on the couch with Sven and a glass of wine and I did not move for two hours. The body wants this kind of tired. The body has wanted this kind of tired for thirty years. I thought about Lars this week. He has been gone since 1979. The grief is old, but it is not gone. The dead do not leave. They just become quieter. Lars at twenty was funny in a particular sideways way that nobody else in the family was funny. He could make Pappa laugh, which nobody could make Pappa do. He has been gone forty-five years. I still hear his laugh sometimes, when Erik is laughing in a particular way, or when Peter accidentally tilts his head the way Lars used to. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. Mamma used to say: "En människa är vad hon ger." A person is what she gives. She said this in Swedish so often that the phrase still sounds in my head in her voice. I think about it daily. I think about what I have given, and what I have not given, and what is still to give. The accounting is mostly favorable. The accounting is, in some ways, the only accounting that matters. It is enough.

The caramel apple cake I made that week — the one with the warm glaze that sets into a thin lacquer — reminded me that apples have always been in this kitchen, sweet and a little tart, patient things that keep well. When I want to bring that same feeling to the table without the oven, this Fruity Apple Salad does it: crisp, honest, easy to multiply for a crowd, the kind of dish that travels well to a potluck or a grief-visit or a Tuesday when you simply need to give something. Mamma would have made it without a recipe, the way she made everything — by feel, by taste, by what was in season. I make it the same way now.

Fruity Apple Salad

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

Ingredients

• 3 large apples (a mix of sweet and tart varieties such as Honeycrisp and Granny Smith), cored and chopped
• 1 cup red seedless grapes, halved
• 1 cup green seedless grapes, halved
• 1 can (11 oz) mandarin orange segments, drained
• 1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
• 1 cup fresh blueberries
• 1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans (optional)
• 1 cup vanilla yogurt
• 2 tablespoons honey
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Instructions

1. Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the vanilla yogurt, honey, lemon juice, and cinnamon until smooth. Set aside.
2. Prep the fruit. Chop the apples and add them to a large mixing bowl. Add the grapes, mandarin orange segments, strawberries, and blueberries.
3. Combine. Pour the yogurt dressing over the fruit and toss gently until everything is evenly coated.
4. Add crunch. If using, fold in the chopped walnuts or pecans just before serving to keep them crisp.
5. Serve or chill. Serve immediately, or cover and refrigerate for up to 2 hours. Stir gently before serving if made ahead.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 160 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 4g | Carbs: 30g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 25mg