Rainbow Thai Chicken Salad

Curtis stood up from the wheelchair. Not permanently. Not for long. But he stood — in physical therapy, with Keisha holding his arm, on a Wednesday afternoon in May, three months after the stroke. He stood and he took two steps and the steps were small and unsteady and they were the most magnificent steps I have ever seen because they were Curtis Jackson refusing to stay seated. He will use the wheelchair still. He will use the walker. But he STOOD. The man who said "I missed dinner" from a hospital bed stood up and walked two steps toward the future and the future includes the table and the table requires standing and Curtis will stand because the table asks him to.

I was not there. Derek was — he drives Curtis to PT twice a week, the other time being mine. Derek called me from the parking lot, his voice cracking (Derek's voice never cracks): "He stood up. He walked." I sat at the kitchen table and I held the phone and I said, "Thank you," and the "thank you" was to Derek and to Keisha and to God and to Mama and to the stubborn, impossible, magnificent man in the wheelchair who decided that walking was more important than resting and got up. He got up. He always gets up. He gets it from Brenda. We all get it from Brenda.

Made a victory dinner: fried chicken. Because victories get Mama's chicken. Because Curtis stood up. Because standing up is a victory. He ate at the table — still in the wheelchair, still one-handed, but at the table — and I said, "I heard you stood up today." He said, "Two steps." I said, "Two steps is a lot." He said, "Your mama walked a mile to school." I said, "Daddy, you had a STROKE." He said, "Your mama had CANCER." He's right. He's ridiculous. He's my father. Two steps. From a man who had a stroke to a kitchen that holds him. Two steps is a mile. Two steps is everything.

I wanted Mama’s fried chicken—I always want Mama’s fried chicken for a victory—but what I had in the refrigerator was a rotisserie bird and every color of vegetable God makes, and something about a rainbow felt exactly right for the day my father stood up. Curtis sat at the table in his wheelchair, one hand working, and the colors on that plate were loud and alive, the way the day felt. This Rainbow Thai Chicken Salad is what a celebration looks like when you use what you have and you mean every bite of it.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

3 cups cooked chicken breast, shredded or chopped
2 cups shredded purple cabbage
1 cup shredded green cabbage
1 cup shredded carrots
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 yellow bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 cup edamame, shelled and cooked
3 green onions, thinly sliced
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
1/4 cup roasted peanuts, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons sesame seeds
Peanut Dressing:
3 tablespoons creamy peanut butter
2 tablespoons soy sauce (or tamari for gluten-free)
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1 tablespoon honey or maple syrup
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
1 garlic clove, minced
2–3 tablespoons warm water, to thin
1/2 teaspoon sriracha (optional)

Instructions

Make the dressing. Whisk together peanut butter, soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey, sesame oil, ginger, and garlic in a small bowl. Add warm water one tablespoon at a time until the dressing reaches a pourable consistency. Add sriracha if using. Set aside.
Prep the vegetables. Shred the cabbages and carrots, slice both bell peppers into thin strips, and slice the green onions. Place everything into a large mixing bowl.
Add the chicken. Add the shredded cooked chicken and edamame to the bowl with the vegetables. Toss gently to distribute evenly.
Dress the salad. Pour the peanut dressing over the salad and toss well to coat every ingredient. Start with half the dressing and add more to taste.
Finish and serve. Transfer to a serving platter or individual bowls. Top with fresh cilantro, chopped peanuts, and sesame seeds. Serve immediately, or refrigerate the dressed salad for up to one day.

Nutrition (per serving)

Rainbow Thai Chicken Salad — Because Every Victory Deserves a Table Worth Standing For