Mexican Caesar Salad — The Brightness I Needed This Week

I read Paul's books in the evening. The shipwreck books, of course. The same chapters I have read forty times now. The repetition is the comfort. I am not reading for new information. I am reading because the act of opening Paul's books and turning Paul's pages is a form of sitting in the room with him. He is not in the room. The book was in his hand. The book is in my hand. The hands are connected through the book. Peter called from Chicago. He sounded thinner than last week. He said work was fine. I do not believe him. He said his apartment was fine. I do not believe him either. He asked about the dog. He asked about the lake. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too. I told him about the bread I was baking. He said he could almost smell it through the phone. We hung up. I stood at the sink for a long minute. I did not know what else to do. Sophie texted a photo of Mira eating cereal. Mira's face was covered in milk. The photo was lit from the side by morning light and the smile in it was uninhibited and full and I could not stop looking at it. I printed the photo. I taped it to the fridge. I have a system on the fridge now: a column for each grandchild, a column for each great-grandchild, photos rotated weekly. The fridge is the gallery. The gallery is the proof. I cooked Butter lettuce salad this week. Butter lettuce, peas, radish, herbs, lemon vinaigrette, parmesan shavings. Bright. Spring. Thursday at the Damiano Center: I made an extra pot of pea soup, the way Mamma taught me — yellow split peas, ham hock, onion, the whole of Sunday afternoon dedicated to its slow simmer. Gerald said, "Variety. We approve." The regulars approved too. One older woman ate three bowls and asked if she could take some home. I sent her home with a quart in a glass jar. She is bringing the jar back next Thursday. We have an arrangement. I walked to the lake on Saturday. I stood at the spot where Paul and I used to walk — the bench at the end of the lakefront trail, the one with the brass plaque about a different Paul who died in 1972. I told my Paul about the week. About the kids. About the dog. About the soup. I do not feel foolish doing this. The lake is patient. The lake has, in some real sense, become my husband by proxy. I would not have predicted this in 1988. It has turned out to be true anyway. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. I have come to think that grief is not a problem to be solved. Grief is a country. You move into it. You learn its language. You make a life there. You do not leave the country, but you also do not spend every minute thinking about the fact that you live in it. You make breakfast. You walk the dog. You write a blog post. The country is the country. You live there now. It is enough.

The salad I made this week — butter lettuce, peas, radish, bright herbs, a sharp lemon vinaigrette — reminded me how much a bowl of something fresh and simple can hold you steady when the week has been full of phone calls and quiet sinks and photos taped to the fridge. This Mexican Caesar is the closest cousin to what I made: the same instinct toward brightness, toward crispness, toward something that tastes like it believes spring is worth showing up for. I make it when I need color on the table and not too many steps between me and sitting down.

Mexican Caesar Salad

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 small heads butter lettuce (or 1 large head romaine), torn into pieces
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
• 1 avocado, sliced
• 1/2 cup fresh or thawed frozen corn kernels
• 1/4 cup thinly sliced radishes
• 1/3 cup cotija cheese, crumbled
• 1/4 cup fresh cilantro leaves
• 2 cups tortilla strips (store-bought or baked from corn tortillas)
• For the dressing:
• 3 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 tablespoons mayonnaise
• 1 clove garlic, minced or grated
• 1 small jalapeño, seeded and finely minced
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/4 teaspoon chipotle powder (or smoked paprika)
• 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
• Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

1. Make the dressing. Whisk together lime juice, olive oil, mayonnaise, garlic, jalapeño, cumin, chipotle powder, and Worcestershire sauce in a small bowl until smooth and emulsified. Season with salt and black pepper. Taste and adjust lime or seasoning as needed. Set aside.
2. Prepare the tortilla strips. If making your own, slice 4 corn tortillas into thin strips, toss with a little olive oil and a pinch of salt, and bake at 400°F for 5–7 minutes until crisp and golden. Watch closely. Let cool on the pan.
3. Build the salad base. Add the torn butter lettuce to a large wide bowl. Scatter the cherry tomatoes, corn kernels, and sliced radishes over the top.
4. Dress and toss. Drizzle about two-thirds of the dressing over the salad and toss gently to coat every leaf. Add more dressing to taste — you may not need it all.
5. Add the toppings. Arrange the avocado slices over the salad. Scatter the crumbled cotija, cilantro leaves, and tortilla strips on top.
6. Serve immediately. This salad is best eaten right away while the tortilla strips are still crisp. Serve with any remaining dressing on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 6g | Sodium: 390mg