Ribbon Salad with Orange Vinaigrette -- From the Garden, From the Grief, From the Good

The Damiano Center crowd has shifted. Gerald is still there, the soup steady. New faces too — younger, more women, more children. The need does not decrease. The need shape-shifts. The soup does not stop. The soup is the only constant the people who come into that basement get to count on, and we keep it constant. Astrid had a fall. She is fine. The Twin Cities sister-call club is now its own small intervention. Karin and I take turns calling Astrid. Astrid resents the calls. We make them anyway. The resentment is the love filtered through Astrid's particular Scandinavian self-sufficiency. We do not mind being resented. We mind, far more, the alternative. Erik turned seventy. We had a small party at his house. He grilled. He drank one beer (his quota, a quota set by his doctor, observed religiously). He was quiet and happy. He looked like Pappa around the eyes. I had not noticed before. I notice now. The resemblance has deepened with age. Erik is becoming Pappa in the slow gentle way that men become their fathers if they live long enough. Elsa called. She has met someone. A man named Tom Birch. A canoe guide from Ely. She sounds different on the phone — softer, brighter, a different person on the inside that the phone is registering. I think this might be the one. I have not been right about all of my children's relationships. I am being cautious. But also: I think this might be the one. I cooked Garden salad with herbs this week. Lettuce from the garden, tomatoes from the co-op (still too early for garden tomatoes), cucumber, radish, dill, chives, mustard vinaigrette. Damiano Thursday. A teenage boy came in alone. He was hungry. He did not want to make eye contact. I served him soup. I did not make small talk. He ate two bowls. He left. The not-asking was the gift. The not-asking is sometimes the right form of attention. The teenagers know. The kitchen is the reliquary. I have used this word in the blog before. I am using it again because it is the right word. A reliquary is the container that holds the bones of the saints. The kitchen holds the bones of my saints — Pappa, Lars, Mamma, Paul, Erik, the first Sven, the second Sven. The bones are not literal bones. The bones are the marble slab and the bread pans and the glasses on the shelf and the wooden spoon worn smooth by Mamma's hand. The kitchen holds them. The kitchen is what holds them. 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. Sven (whichever Sven I am living with at the moment) has the daily distinction of being the most consistent presence in my life. He follows me from kitchen to porch to bedroom. He sleeps within ten feet of me at all times. He notices when I am sad and he comes to put his head on my knee and the head is heavy and warm and the heaviness is the comfort. The dog is not a person. The dog is the only creature in the house, however, and the dog does the work that another person would do if there were one. The dog is enough. It is enough.

The week held a lot — Erik’s birthday and his father’s face looking back at me, Elsa’s voice on the phone softer than I have heard it in years, the teenage boy at Damiano who just needed soup and silence. When I came home to the kitchen, I wanted something that tasted like the garden and asked nothing of me. The ribbon salad was that thing: lettuce still cold from outside, a vinaigrette with a little brightness in it, the herbs I have been tending since April. It is not a complicated recipe. It was not a week that needed complication. It needed color and vinegar and the smell of fresh dill, and that is what it got.

Ribbon Salad with Orange Vinaigrette

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 large head butter lettuce or romaine, leaves separated
• 1 medium cucumber, peeled and sliced into thin ribbons with a vegetable peeler
• 4 radishes, thinly sliced
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
• 2 tablespoons fresh dill, roughly chopped
• 2 tablespoons fresh chives, thinly sliced
• 2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
• Orange Vinaigrette:
• 3 tablespoons fresh orange juice (about 1/2 orange)
• 1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
• 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
• 1/4 teaspoon honey
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Instructions

1. Make the vinaigrette. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the orange juice, white wine vinegar, Dijon mustard, and honey. Slowly drizzle in the olive oil while whisking continuously until emulsified. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.
2. Prepare the vegetables. Use a vegetable peeler to pull the cucumber into long, thin ribbons, stopping when you reach the seedy core. Thinly slice the radishes. Halve the cherry tomatoes.
3. Assemble the salad. Arrange the lettuce leaves on a large platter or in a wide shallow bowl. Layer the cucumber ribbons, radish slices, and cherry tomatoes over the top.
4. Add the herbs. Scatter the dill, chives, and parsley evenly over the salad.
5. Dress and serve. Drizzle the orange vinaigrette over the salad just before serving. Toss gently or serve as arranged. Taste and adjust seasoning if needed. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 115 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 95mg