Mexican Fiesta Salad

Week three hundred. I didn't plan to mark this number and I'm marking it anyway because this is the week Hector Medina died. He died on a Tuesday morning in November 2028, in his home in Las Cruces, in the bed that has been his bed for forty years, with Marisol beside him and Clara in the next room and his wife on the other side. I was in Denver coaching. I had talked to him Sunday. Clara called me at seven-fifteen. I was at the school at seven-fifteen. I sat in my car in the parking lot for a while. Then I drove home. I told Lisa. I held her. I made some calls. I drove to Las Cruces.

I drove through Raton Pass the way I have driven through Raton Pass my entire life: the land opening up below you, the brown and ochre and enormous scale of New Mexico, the Organ Mountains eventually visible on the horizon. He is in those mountains now. He is in every mile of that drive. He is in every kitchen I have ever cooked in. He is in my hands and my voice and the way I stand on a football sideline and the way I hold my children and the way I said "mijo" to players for twenty years without noticing I'd borrowed his word. He is in all of it and he always will be.

I cooked for the house when I arrived. Big pots. Calabacitas. Red chile. The food you make when a person has died and the people who loved him need to eat. My hands knew what to do. They had learned from the hands that were gone. The kitchen smelled like his kitchen. I stood in it and let it be what it was and kept cooking. That's what he would have wanted. Keep cooking. Keep going. Keep making the things that connect us to the people we love. He always wanted that.

The big pots held the red chile and the calabacitas, but a table full of people needs more than one dish—it needs color, it needs cold alongside hot, it needs something that keeps refilling without asking. This Mexican Fiesta Salad is what I set out alongside everything else: easy to make in volume, impossible to get wrong, and bright enough to remind you that life was still present in that kitchen. My dad would have helped himself to a big bowlful and gone back for more. That’s exactly why I made it.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 10

Ingredients

2 cans (15 oz each) black beans, rinsed and drained
2 cups frozen corn, thawed
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 orange bell pepper, diced
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/2 red onion, finely diced
1 can (4 oz) diced green chiles, drained
1/2 cup fresh cilantro, chopped
1 avocado, diced
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon chili powder
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Combine the base. In a large serving bowl, add the black beans, corn, red and orange bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, red onion, and diced green chiles. Stir gently to combine.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the lime juice, olive oil, cumin, chili powder, garlic powder, salt, and pepper until well blended.
Dress the salad. Pour the dressing over the vegetable mixture and toss until everything is evenly coated. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.
Finish and serve. Fold in the chopped cilantro and diced avocado just before serving. Serve immediately at room temperature, or refrigerate up to 2 hours before adding the avocado.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mexican Fiesta Salad — The Food You Make When People Need to Eat