Japanese Spring Salad with Dashi-Soy Vinaigrette

Mid-May and the farmers market is bursting — strawberries, asparagus, lettuces so fresh they are still breathing. I bought everything, overspent, came home with bags overflowing, and stood at the counter organizing produce like a woman who believes that if the refrigerator is full enough, nothing bad can happen. This is not rational. The refrigerator does not protect against loss. But filling it feels like preparation, and preparation is the only form of control available to someone who controls nothing.

I made a Japanese spring salad — barely blanched asparagus, thinly sliced radishes, watercress, dressed with a dashi-soy vinaigrette and topped with bonito flakes. The salad was so green it glowed. I photographed it for the blog and the light was spring light, warm and forgiving, and the photograph looked like an advertisement for a life more beautiful than the one I am actually living. The gap between the photograph and the reality is the gap between the blog and the journal, between the public self and the private self, between the woman who writes about asparagus and the woman who cries about her grandmother. Both exist. Both are real. The photograph shows only one.

I have been thinking about legacy — about what Fumiko will leave behind. The recipes, obviously. The ceramic bowls. The cast iron pan. But also the way she holds a knife. The sound she makes when soup is not right — a small tsk, barely audible, that corrects the universe. The smell of her apartment. These things cannot be inherited. They can only be remembered. And memory fades. Memory is the most unreliable form of preservation. I am writing it down. I am writing everything down, in the journal, in the blog, in the words that will outlast memory, that will be there when the smell has faded and the sound of her voice has become an approximation rather than a recording.

Miya learned a new word this week: "cook." She walks into the kitchen and says, "Mama cook," which is both a statement and a command, a description and a request. She wants to watch me cook. She wants to participate, to stand on the step stool, to stir the miso paste into the dashi with both hands. She is two and she already knows that the kitchen is where things happen, where the important work is done, where love takes the form of soup. She learned this without being taught. She learned it the way I learned it in Fumiko's kitchen: by being present, by absorbing, by standing close enough to feel the steam.

This is the salad I made with all that market haul — the one that glowed so green it looked like it belonged to a better, simpler life. It’s barely a recipe, really. Blanch the asparagus just enough, slice the radishes thin, let the watercress be wild, and dress it all in something savory and warm. The dashi-soy vinaigrette is Fumiko’s, or close enough — the kind of dressing she’d make without measuring, tasting as she went, giving that small tsk if the balance was off. I measured. I wrote it down. That’s what I can do.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 2 minutes | Total Time: 17 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

For the salad:

1 bunch asparagus (about 1 pound), tough ends trimmed, cut into 2-inch pieces
4 radishes, very thinly sliced
2 cups watercress, tough stems removed
2 cups mixed spring lettuces
1 small watermelon radish, thinly sliced (optional)
1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds
1/4 cup bonito flakes (katsuobushi), for topping

For the dashi-soy vinaigrette:

3 tablespoons dashi stock, cooled (made from 1 teaspoon dashi powder and 3 tablespoons hot water)
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
1 teaspoon mirin
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1 tablespoon neutral oil (such as grapeseed or avocado)
1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil

Instructions

Make the vinaigrette. Whisk together the dashi stock, soy sauce, rice vinegar, mirin, and sugar until the sugar dissolves. Stream in the neutral oil and sesame oil, whisking until emulsified. Set aside.
Blanch the asparagus. Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Prepare a bowl of ice water. Add the asparagus pieces and blanch for 60 to 90 seconds — they should be bright green and still crisp. Transfer immediately to the ice bath. Drain and pat dry.
Assemble the salad. Arrange the spring lettuces and watercress on a serving platter or in a wide bowl. Scatter the blanched asparagus and sliced radishes over the greens.
Dress and finish. Drizzle the dashi-soy vinaigrette over the salad. Sprinkle with toasted sesame seeds and top generously with bonito flakes. The bonito will wave gently from the warmth of the vegetables — serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Japanese Spring Salad with Dashi-Soy Vinaigrette — Buying Everything at the Market Because the Refrigerator Keeps Us Safe