By Mid-May and the farm is at the peak of its spring beauty. The lilacs are in full bloom along the north fence — the smell coming in through the kitchen window in the morning, that specific smell that means May in Vermont and nothing else. I've been cutting branches for the house, filling a few vases that Helen used to fill at exactly this time of year, the same vases in the same spots. That continuity is not nostalgia. It's just the right thing to do with a lilac in May.
The strawberry plants are setting blossoms. The rhubarb jam is done and in the cellar. The garden is planted and the seedlings are establishing. The peas are up and flowering. The whole property is in its May mode of simultaneous activity: everything happening at once, the garden demanding attention and giving back beauty and the promise of what's coming.
I've been going through Helen's 1987 notebook more carefully, reading it in order, seeing the shape of a year of cooking thirty-five years ago. There are some recipes in there I've never made and a few that I haven't made in decades. I'm going to work through it over the summer — not systematically, but making things when they feel right for the season. A kind of extended reading of an old document through the act of cooking.
Made a simple spring dinner on Saturday: roasted radishes and spring onions alongside a piece of salmon, the kind of meal that takes twenty minutes and tastes like the specific week it was made in. Radishes are not often roasted but they should be — the sharp raw bite softens into something sweeter, the color goes from pink-white to gold. They're a different vegetable from the heat.
That Saturday dinner reminded me that the best spring cooking asks almost nothing of you—just the willingness to let the ingredients speak for the season. Flipping through Helen’s 1987 notebook later that evening, I found a note in the margin next to a salad page that read simply: raw things in May. She was right, as usual. This shredded Brussels sprouts and arugula salad with its sharp, citrusy sunshine dressing is the kind of dish she would have set on the table without ceremony, and it belongs right beside a piece of salmon or anywhere the spring garden is making its presence felt.
Shredded Brussels Sprouts & Arugula Salad with Sunshine Dressing
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 10 oz Brussels sprouts, ends trimmed
- 3 oz baby arugula
- 1/4 cup shaved Parmesan
- 3 tablespoons toasted pine nuts or slivered almonds
- 1/4 cup dried cranberries or golden raisins (optional)
- Sunshine Dressing:
- 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 large lemon)
- 1 tablespoon fresh orange juice
- 1 teaspoon honey
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 1 small garlic clove, finely grated
- 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Instructions
- Shred the Brussels sprouts. Using a sharp knife or the slicing disc of a food processor, thinly shred the Brussels sprouts into fine ribbons. Transfer to a large salad bowl.
- Make the sunshine dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the lemon juice, orange juice, honey, Dijon mustard, garlic, salt, and pepper. Drizzle in the olive oil while whisking steadily until the dressing is emulsified.
- Dress the Brussels sprouts. Pour about two-thirds of the dressing over the shredded Brussels sprouts and toss well. Let the sprouts sit for 5 minutes so the ribbons soften slightly in the acid.
- Add the arugula. Add the arugula to the bowl and toss gently to combine with the dressed sprouts. Taste and add more dressing as desired.
- Finish and serve. Top the salad with shaved Parmesan, toasted nuts, and dried fruit if using. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 185 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 210mg