By The week after the bar mitzvah and I am recovering — physically from the cooking (my hands ache, my back protests, my knees file a formal complaint), emotionally from the magnitude of the day, and spiritually from the particular grace of watching a chain link being forged in real time. Ethan is thirteen. Ethan is a man, liturgically. Ethan can make challah and rugelach and he read Torah in Hebrew and the chain is strong in him and the strength is the legacy, my legacy, Sylvia's legacy, the legacy of every woman who stood in a kitchen and said: this matters. Remember this.
I spent the week doing nothing, which is the first time I have done nothing since retirement, and the nothing was both restful and terrifying, because nothing is not a thing I know how to do — I know how to cook and write and visit and teach and plan and execute, but I do not know how to sit, and the sitting is the nothing, and the nothing is the rest, and the rest is necessary, and the necessary is what I must learn to accept.
I made a simple salad for dinner — greens, tomatoes, cucumber, a lemon vinaigrette. The simplest meal. The meal that asks nothing of you except a knife and a bowl. The simplicity was the rest. The rest was the meal. The meal was the recovery. And the recovery is the preparation for whatever comes next, because whatever comes next will require cooking, and cooking requires hands that don't ache, and the hands need rest, and the rest is this week, and this week is the salad, and the salad is enough.
The salad I made that quiet week was even simpler than this one — just greens and a lemon squeeze — but when I finally felt ready to do just a little more, this massaged kale salad with craisins and feta was exactly the right next step. It still asks almost nothing of you: a bit of kneading, a handful of good things tossed together, no heat, no hovering over a stove. After the chopping and stirring and kneading of dough that filled the weeks before Ethan’s bar mitzvah, there was something almost meditative about massaging kale — a reminder that hands can work gently, too, and that a bowl of something beautiful doesn’t have to cost everything you have.
Massaged Kale and Craisin Salad with Feta Cheese
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 large bunch curly kale (about 8 cups), stems removed and leaves torn or chopped
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/2 cup craisins (dried cranberries)
- 1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
- 1/3 cup toasted sliced almonds or sunflower seeds
- 1/4 small red onion, very thinly sliced
- 3 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar or lemon juice
- 1 teaspoon honey
- 1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- Salt and black pepper to taste
Instructions
- Massage the kale. Place the torn kale leaves in a large bowl. Drizzle with 1 tablespoon olive oil and sprinkle with 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt. Using clean hands, massage and squeeze the kale firmly for 2—3 minutes until the leaves soften, darken in color, and reduce in volume by about half.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together 3 tablespoons olive oil, apple cider vinegar or lemon juice, honey, and Dijon mustard until emulsified. Season with salt and black pepper to taste.
- Assemble the salad. Add the craisins, red onion, and about half the feta to the massaged kale. Drizzle the dressing over the salad and toss well to combine.
- Top and serve. Transfer to a serving platter or individual bowls. Scatter the remaining feta and the toasted almonds or sunflower seeds over the top. Serve immediately, or refrigerate for up to 1 hour — the kale holds up beautifully and won’t wilt.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 280 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 390mg