Orange Buttermilk Gelatin Salad -- The Dish That Always Shows Up When It Matters

There is a particular kind of November light that I associate with my own childhood, and it visited the kitchen this week and I let it stay. The week was a fall week, the kind where the light through the kitchen window arrives at a particular angle and the freezer hums in a different register depending on the temperature in the garage. I made notes in my prep notebook on Sunday afternoon, the way I always do: meal name, ingredient list, cost per serving, prep time, freezer instructions. Twenty-eight bags. Two hours and eleven minutes. A little slow this week, by my standards, but Brandon was helping and the conversation was good, and I have learned, slowly and against my own grain, that the conversation is sometimes the point and the time is sometimes a courtesy I extend to my husband for being willing to chop onions on a Sunday afternoon.

The recipe of the week was the funeral potatoes, which I have made some specific number of times in my life and have refined to a system that I now hand to other people in printed form. The version I made this week fed eight, cost under fifteen dollars, and required twenty-six minutes of active prep, which is within my requirements and not a coincidence. The vacuum sealer is the most important small appliance in this house and I will die on this hill. I have stopped explaining the freezer-meal philosophy to people who already follow my work, and I have stopped apologizing for it to people who do not. The philosophy is simple: tomorrow is coming whether you are ready or not. You can either be ready or not. I pick ready.

The children are doing what they do, which is the central report of every week of my adult life. Ethan is 21, in Manila on his mission, and his last email mentioned a chicken adobo so good he is going to make me make it when he comes home. Olivia is 19, at BYU studying elementary education — the path she chose at age seven and has not deviated from once. Mason, 17, is in Brazil on his mission. His weekly emails are short and full of jokes. He does not write much about the work. He writes about the food. Lily is 15, in high school, asking the kind of questions in Sunday School that make the teachers uncomfortable, which I find difficult and also, secretly, admirable. Noah is 12, the comedian, the performer — the kid who does an impression of my disappointed face in front of company, and gets away with it. That is the family report. I do not have a system for these reports. I just listen and remember and call back when I said I would call back, which is most of the time and not all of the time, and the difference between most and all is the territory of motherhood.

Grace would have been 10. I do not let myself imagine the alternate version. I keep her in the facts. I do not write about her every week. I do not avoid her either. She is in the kitchen the way the kitchen is in the kitchen — woven into the structure, not announcing herself, present. The photograph above the stove is the only one of her smiling, and it has watched me batch-prep more freezer meals than I can count, and I have stopped feeling strange about the parasocial relationship I have with a four-month-old who has been gone for years. She is my daughter. The photograph is what I have. I look. I keep cooking.

Brandon is asleep on the couch. The dishwasher is running. The kitchen is clean. That is what counts as victory in a long marriage.

The funeral potatoes were the main event this week, but this salad has been their faithful companion on my printed meal cards for longer than I can remember—the bright, cool counterpoint to something rich and cheesy, the thing that gets eaten before I even set the pan down at a potluck. Brandon chopped the onions for the potatoes, but this one is mine alone: four steps, one bowl, and the kind of creamy orange color that has no right to taste as good as it does. If you are feeding eight people on a budget on a Tuesday, you want something that carries itself. This does.

Orange Buttermilk Gelatin Salad

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 4 hrs 15 min (includes chill) | Servings: 10

Ingredients

• 1 (6 oz) package orange-flavored gelatin
• 1 cup boiling water
• 1 cup buttermilk, well shaken
• 1 (8 oz) container frozen whipped topping, thawed
• 1 (20 oz) can crushed pineapple, drained well
• 1 (11 oz) can mandarin orange segments, drained well
• 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions

1. Dissolve the gelatin. Pour the boiling water over the orange gelatin in a large mixing bowl. Stir continuously for 2 full minutes until every granule is dissolved. Set aside and allow to cool to room temperature, about 20 minutes—do not skip this step or the whipped topping will deflate.
2. Stir in the buttermilk. Add the buttermilk and salt to the cooled gelatin mixture and whisk until smooth and evenly combined. The mixture will look slightly cloudy; that is correct.
3. Fold in the whipped topping. Add the thawed whipped topping in two additions, folding gently with a rubber spatula until no white streaks remain. Work slowly to keep the mixture light.
4. Add the fruit. Fold in the drained crushed pineapple and mandarin orange segments until evenly distributed throughout the mixture.
5. Transfer and chill. Pour into a 9x13-inch dish or a large serving bowl. Smooth the top, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight until fully set and sliceable.
6. Serve cold. Scoop or cut into squares and serve directly from the refrigerator. Leftovers keep covered in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 175 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 31g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 115mg