Poppy Seed Tossed Salad

Week 505, and the apples arriving, the squash at the farm stand, the light turning golden, the kitchen shifting to soups and stews. I am 68 years old and the days have a rhythm now — the morning writing, the afternoon visits to Cedarhurst, the evening cooking, the weekly blog post — and the rhythm is the structure, and the structure is the sanity, and the sanity is required because the rest of it, the losing and the loving and the carrying, requires a sane woman at the helm, and I am sane, mostly, except when I cry in the car in the Cedarhurst parking lot, which is not insanity but its opposite: the specific, targeted release of emotion in a contained space, which is the most rational thing I do all week.

Garden planted; second book proposal; daily visits; routine. These are the facts of the week, the data points, the things I would put in a report if I were writing a report, which I am not — I am writing a life, and the life includes the facts but is not limited to them, because the life also includes the way the kitchen smells at six in the morning when the coffee is brewing and the challah is rising and the house is quiet and the quiet is both the grief and the peace, simultaneously, and the simultaneous is the condition, the permanent condition of a woman who is 68 and alone and not alone, who is a grandmother and a wife and a writer and a cook and a caregiver and all of these things at once, always at once, braided together like the challah.

I made spring asparagus this week — because it was what the week needed, because the week always needs something and the something is always food, and the food is always the answer, and the answer is always the kitchen, and the kitchen is always mine, and the mine-ness of the kitchen is the one thing that has not changed in sixty-seven years of living, from Sylvia's kitchen on the Grand Concourse to this kitchen in Oceanside where I stand every morning and every evening and many of the hours in between, making the food that is the chain, that is the love, that is the thing I do when I don't know what else to do, which is always, and especially now.

I brought food to Marvin at the usual time. The visit was what visits are now — quiet, steady, the feeding by hand when necessary, the reading aloud always, the holding of the hand that may or may not know it is being held but that is warm and alive and present, which is the definition of love in this particular year: warm and alive and present. He ate what I brought. He received what I gave. The receiving is the relationship. The receiving is the vow. In sickness and in health, in recognition and in forgetting, in the recliner and in the kitchen, the receiving is the marriage, and the marriage continues, one container at a time, one visit at a time, one day at a time, at two o'clock, every day, because the chain does not break.

The asparagus was part of the week’s bigger table — and alongside it, as I do every spring when the light shifts and the garden comes back, I made this poppy seed tossed salad, the one I’ve been making so long it requires no thinking, only hands. That’s the point of it, really: when the days are full of weight, the kitchen asks for something that gives back without demanding, and this salad — crisp, bright, dressed simply — is that kind of recipe, the kind that sits beside the harder things and says, yes, you can do this, one bowl at a time.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

8 cups mixed salad greens (romaine, spinach, or spring mix)
1 cup strawberries, sliced
1/2 cup mandarin orange segments, drained
1/2 cup red onion, thinly sliced
1/4 cup sliced almonds, toasted
1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese (optional)
Poppy Seed Dressing:
1/3 cup white wine vinegar
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon grated onion
2/3 cup neutral oil (such as canola or light olive oil)
1 1/2 tablespoons poppy seeds

Instructions

Make the dressing. In a blender or jar, combine the vinegar, sugar, dry mustard, salt, and grated onion. Blend or whisk until the sugar dissolves. With the blender running (or whisking constantly), slowly drizzle in the oil until the dressing is emulsified and slightly thickened. Stir in the poppy seeds. Refrigerate until ready to use.
Toast the almonds. In a dry skillet over medium heat, toast the sliced almonds for 2–3 minutes, stirring frequently, until golden and fragrant. Remove from heat and let cool.
Assemble the salad. In a large salad bowl, combine the greens, sliced strawberries, mandarin oranges, and red onion. Toss gently to distribute evenly.
Add toppings. Scatter the toasted almonds and feta (if using) over the top of the salad.
Dress and serve. Drizzle the desired amount of poppy seed dressing over the salad just before serving and toss lightly to coat. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Poppy Seed Tossed Salad — The Spring Table That Holds Everything Together