Jicama Citrus Salad

Late November. Two weeks until the state final. Pomona won their semifinal Saturday afternoon thirty-five to twenty-one. They are the opponent. They are twelve and oh. They have one of the best running backs in the state, a senior named Jamal Reyes (no relation to Mike). They have a senior linebacker who is going to Wisconsin. They run a power-spread offense that has been killing teams for three years. Their head coach is a guy named Tom Petrillo who has been at Pomona for eighteen years and has won two state championships before. He knows what he is doing. We are going to need every play we have ever drawn up plus three new ones.

Mike Reyes and Tony Davis and I sat in the office Sunday afternoon for six hours. We watched film. We took notes. We started building the plan. The plan has three components. First, neutralize Jamal Reyes — we have to keep him under a hundred yards. He has gone over a hundred yards in nine of twelve games this year. Second, make their quarterback uncomfortable — he is a junior, he is mobile but not a great passer, and he gets jittery under pressure. Third, on offense, we need to control the clock. Pomona's defense is fast and aggressive. Long, methodical drives are going to wear them down by the fourth quarter. Quick scores are going to give them rest and confidence. We are going to grind.

The team practice Monday was sharp. The kids were focused. Diego was leading drills. Marcus was making decisive throws. Daquan was setting an example with his intensity in the box drills. The seniors had taken over the practice in a way they had not taken it over before. The coaches were almost peripheral. The kids were running the show. That is what you want in late November.

Sunday morning I made menudo. The first menudo of the season. Menudo is the soup that fixes whatever was broken from the night before. In some Mexican households it is a hangover cure. In our household — we are not a hangover household — it is an emotional cure, a soul cure, the food that mends the parts of you that football and family and life have worn down. Menudo is tripe and hominy in a long-simmered red chile broth, with onion and lime and oregano on the side. The tripe takes hours. The hominy takes hours. The whole thing simmers all morning. The smell is unmistakable. The flavor is divisive — half the kids love it, half resist — and you serve it at Sunday lunch and you do not negotiate.

I had bought tripe from the Mexican grocery on Federal Friday morning before the semifinal. I had cleaned it Saturday afternoon. (Cleaning tripe is a job I have learned to do without complaint. You wash it three times in cold water with salt and lime juice. You scrape any stubborn bits. You parboil it briefly. You rinse. Then you simmer it for three hours with onion and garlic and bay leaf and a little oregano. Then you add the red chile sauce. Then you add the hominy. Then you simmer for another hour. Total cooking time: about five hours. Total cleaning time: about ninety minutes. Total prep time: about thirty minutes. The labor is the love.)

The menudo was ready at noon Sunday. I served it in big bowls with chopped onion and cilantro and lime wedges and a stack of warm tortillas. The twins each had a small bowl with extra hominy and not too much tripe. Sofia had a regular bowl. Diego had two bowls. Lisa had a bowl with extra lime. I had two bowls. The smell stayed in the kitchen all afternoon. The Sunday paper got read. The kids did homework at the kitchen table. Lisa and I sat on the patio with hot tea and we did not talk about the state final, because the state final was on the calendar and there was nothing more to say about it that we had not already said.

Lisa said, "Carlos." I said, "Yeah." She said, "Whatever happens, this season has been beautiful." I said, "Yeah, it has." She said, "I am proud of you." I said, "Lisa, you have already said that twice this season. You are not allowed to say it a third time until after the final." She laughed. She said, "Fine. I will save it." We sat. The aspens in the yard were bare now, all the leaves down. The November air was cold. The menudo smell still drifted out from the kitchen. The road bends. Feed your people. The game is won at the table. And the soul is mended in the menudo on the Sunday between the semifinal and the final, in the quiet hours before the work begins again.

The menudo was the anchor of that Sunday—the long labor, the red broth, the smell that stayed in the kitchen all afternoon—but a pot like that wants something bright beside it, something with crunch and citrus and a little heat to cut through the richness. This jicama citrus salad is exactly that. I have made it alongside menudo more Sundays than I can count. The lime in it rhymes with the lime wedges on the menudo bowls. The chile powder wakes up the same parts of your mouth. It is the side dish that knows its place and plays its role, and on a Sunday when you need the table to hold your whole family steady before a hard week begins, that is exactly what you need from a recipe.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 medium jicama (about 1 1/2 lbs), peeled and cut into matchsticks
2 navel oranges, peeled and segmented
1 grapefruit, peeled and segmented
1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, and sliced into half-moons
1/4 red onion, thinly sliced
1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon chile powder (or Tajin)
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)

Instructions

Prep the jicama. Peel the jicama with a sharp knife or vegetable peeler—the skin is thick, so a peeler may take two passes. Cut into 1/4-inch slices, then cut those into matchsticks about 2 inches long. Place in a large mixing bowl.
Segment the citrus. Working over the bowl to catch the juice, cut the orange and grapefruit segments free from their membranes. Add the segments to the bowl with the jicama.
Add the vegetables. Add the sliced cucumber and red onion to the bowl. Toss gently to combine.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl whisk together the lime juice, olive oil, chile powder, salt, and cayenne if using. Pour over the salad and toss to coat everything evenly.
Finish and rest. Scatter the cilantro leaves over the top. Let the salad sit at room temperature for 5–10 minutes before serving so the jicama softens very slightly and absorbs the lime. Taste and adjust salt or lime as needed.
Serve. Arrange on a platter or serve directly from the bowl. Dust with a little extra chile powder or Tajin at the table if your family likes heat.

Nutrition (per serving)

Jicama Citrus Salad — The Side That Carries the Sunday