Mediterranean Quinoa Salad

Mid-June and the heat has arrived. Portland is sweating and complaining and eating ice cream on every corner and I am in the kitchen making cold things — hiyayakko, zaru soba, cold tofu salad — the rotation of Japanese summer foods that I have made every June since I moved here and that Fumiko made every June since she moved to Sacramento and that her mother probably made every June in Japan before the war. The rotation is ancestral. The cold tofu is generational. I slice the scallions the way Fumiko sliced them — on the diagonal, thin, precise — and the slicing is connection.

Brian's drinking has escalated again. Summer means beer events, taproom openings, outdoor festivals, the entire social infrastructure of Portland's craft beverage industry running at full capacity. He is out most evenings now — three, four, five nights a week — at events he calls "networking" that smell like hops when he stumbles in. I put Miya to bed alone. I cook dinner alone. I eat alone. The alone has shifted from choice to condition, from something I selected on Memorial Day to something that has been imposed by a man who would rather be anywhere than in this kitchen, anywhere than in this marriage, anywhere than in the silence where the questions live.

I wrote a blog post about cooking as meditation — about the way chopping vegetables can quiet a noisy mind, about the rhythmic repetition of knife against board, about the focus required to make dashi and the peace that the focus creates. I did not mention Brian. I did not mention the empty evenings. I wrote about chopping and silence and the kitchen as a meditation hall, and the post resonated with thousands of readers who also chop in silence, who also use the kitchen as refuge, who also know that the sound of a knife against a board is sometimes the only prayer available.

Miya is three and a half. She speaks in paragraphs. She has opinions about food that are sophisticated and specific: she likes miso soup but not with wakame (too slimy), she likes onigiri with salmon but not with pickled plum (too sour), she likes tamagoyaki but only if it is rolled tight (like Obaachan's, she says, which means she is measuring my food against a dead woman's food and the dead woman is still winning). Her standards are high. Her standards are Fumiko's. The chain holds.

The hiyayakko and zaru soba are for the rotation, for the ancestral chain, for Fumiko’s memory and Miya’s future — but on the nights I need something that is only mine, something with no inheritance attached, I make this quinoa salad. It is cool and simple and requires exactly enough knife work to quiet the noise without demanding ceremony. I make it alone. I eat most of it alone. Miya picks out the olives and calls them too salty, which means her standards are already high, which means she is already becoming herself, which is the only thing in this June that feels uncomplicated.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min (plus chilling) | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 cup dry quinoa, rinsed
2 cups water or vegetable broth
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1 English cucumber, diced
1/2 cup Kalamata olives, halved
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
1/4 cup red onion, finely diced
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Cook the quinoa. Combine rinsed quinoa and water (or broth) in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 15 minutes until liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat and let steam, covered, for 5 minutes.
Cool completely. Fluff the quinoa with a fork and spread it onto a baking sheet or large plate to cool to room temperature. For best results, refrigerate for at least 20 minutes before assembling.
Make the dressing. Whisk together olive oil, lemon juice, minced garlic, and oregano in a small bowl. Season with salt and pepper.
Combine the salad. In a large bowl, toss the cooled quinoa with cherry tomatoes, cucumber, olives, red onion, and parsley. Pour the dressing over and toss to coat evenly.
Add feta and serve. Fold in crumbled feta gently. Taste and adjust salt, pepper, or lemon juice as needed. Serve immediately or refrigerate up to 3 days — the flavors deepen overnight.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mediterranean Quinoa Salad — The Summer Rotation I Can Control