Ginger-Cashew Chicken Salad

March. Spring in Portland. The crocuses push through the wet earth and the cherry blossoms open along the waterfront and the light shifts from gray to silver and I stand on the balcony with my miso soup and feel the season change the way you feel a room change when someone opens a window: the air moves, the staleness clears, the world becomes possible again.

The divorce was finalized on February 18th. The judge signed the papers and somewhere in a courthouse in downtown Portland, my marriage became a document in a file in a cabinet, and the document says: dissolved. I am divorced. The word is new in my mouth, angular, still unfamiliar. "I am divorced" does not sound like me. "I am a mother" sounds like me. "I am a writer" sounds like me. "I am divorced" sounds like a fact about someone else that I have been asked to carry, and the carrying is awkward, and the fact is heavy, and the weight will decrease over time, the way all weights decrease when you carry them long enough.

I made Fumiko's chirashizushi to celebrate — not the divorce, but the spring, the season, the fact that the world is opening and so am I. The chirashizushi was vivid: pink salmon, green avocado, golden tamagoyaki, white rice. The colors of spring. The colors of beginning again. I ate it at the small table and looked at Fumiko's recipe cards on the wall and said, out loud: "I did it, Obaachan." The kitchen was quiet. The recipe cards did not respond. But the dashi smelled right, and the rightness was Fumiko's way of saying: I know.

Miya came home from school and said, "Mama, what does 'divorced' mean?" A classmate had used the word. I said, "It means mama and daddy decided to live in different houses." She said, "But we already do that." I said, "Yes, we do." She said, "Then what changed?" The question was devastating and perfect and I did not have an answer, because what changed was a piece of paper and a legal status and the word "dissolved," and none of those things are visible to a four-year-old who has been living in two houses since August and has already adjusted and has already moved on and is waiting for me to catch up. I will catch up. I am catching up. The child is ahead of the mother. The child is always ahead.

Fumiko’s chirashizushi was right for that particular Tuesday — her recipe, her colors, her voice in the dashi — but what I keep coming back to in the weeks since is this: I want food that feels like the season feels. Bright. Scattered. Full of things that hold their shape. This ginger-cashew chicken salad does exactly that: the crunch of the cashews, the heat of fresh ginger, the way the colors land in the bowl the same way crocuses land in wet earth — sudden and decided and right on time. I made it for Miya on the first warm Saturday, and she ate every bite and asked for more, and I thought: yes, this is what catching up feels like.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 1 lb total)
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
5 cups Napa cabbage, thinly shredded
1 cup shredded carrots (about 2 medium carrots)
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
3 green onions, thinly sliced
1/2 cup roasted cashews, roughly chopped
1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves
2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
For the ginger dressing:
3 tablespoons low-sodium soy sauce
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, finely grated
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons neutral oil (such as avocado or canola)
1 teaspoon sriracha (optional)

Instructions

Cook the chicken. Rub chicken breasts with sesame oil, salt, and pepper. Heat a skillet over medium-high heat and cook chicken 6–7 minutes per side, until internal temperature reaches 165°F. Transfer to a cutting board, rest 5 minutes, then slice thin or shred with two forks.
Make the dressing. Whisk together soy sauce, rice vinegar, sesame oil, honey, grated ginger, garlic, neutral oil, and sriracha (if using) in a small bowl until fully combined. Taste and adjust seasoning — add more honey for sweetness, more vinegar for brightness.
Build the salad base. In a large mixing bowl, combine the shredded Napa cabbage, carrots, red bell pepper, and green onions. Toss to distribute evenly.
Dress and toss. Drizzle about two-thirds of the dressing over the vegetables and toss well to coat. Add the sliced or shredded chicken and toss again gently.
Finish and serve. Divide into bowls and top each with chopped cashews, fresh cilantro, and a sprinkle of toasted sesame seeds. Drizzle remaining dressing over the top. Serve immediately so the cashews stay crisp.

Nutrition (per serving)

Ginger-Cashew Chicken Salad — The Colors That Carried Me Through