Sour Cream Cucumbers

The week after Powell's. The book is selling. Not flying off shelves — Fumiko's story is not a bestseller story, not a viral story, not a story that the algorithm picks up and amplifies. It is a story that moves hand to hand, person to person, grandmother to grandmother. It sells the way shiso grows: steadily, persistently, filling the space available, reaching for the light. The publisher is satisfied. Sarah is satisfied. I am — I am. The being is the satisfaction. The book exists. The existing is enough.

I made spring chirashizushi to celebrate and also because it is spring and chirashizushi is spring food and the celebration and the season are the same thing. The rice was pink with vinegar. The fish was fresh. The tamagoyaki was golden. The arrangement was precise. I photographed it for the blog and the blog post was about the book launch, about reading at Powell's, about serving soup to seventy strangers, about the woman from Osaka who said the ocean is not so wide. The post was the most personal I've ever written, which is saying something after nine years of personal posts, and the personal-ness was the risk, and the risk was worth it, the way all risks are worth it when the alternative is silence.

The Uwajimaya signing was smaller, warmer, more intimate — twenty people in the Japanese grocery store, between the miso aisle and the rice aisle, signing books on a card table while shoppers passed with their carts. A Japanese grandmother stopped and looked at the book and said, in Japanese: "Miso soup?" I said, in my imperfect Japanese: "Hai. Obaachan no miso shiru." Grandmother's miso soup. She nodded. She bought the book. She did not need the English. She needed only the two words: obaachan, miso. The two words are the book. The two words are everything.

The chirashizushi was the centerpiece — precise, pink-riced, golden-tamagoyaki’d — but beside it on the table sat a bowl of sour cream cucumbers, cold and quietly perfect, because spring meals in my kitchen always need something that asks nothing of you, something that is only itself. The grandmother at Uwajimaya needed only two words. These cucumbers need only a few ingredients. The restraint is the point.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 25 min (with chill) | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 medium cucumbers, thinly sliced
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 cup sour cream
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar or rice vinegar
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
1 small clove garlic, finely grated
2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped (or 1 teaspoon dried)
Freshly cracked black pepper, to taste

Instructions

Salt the cucumbers. Place sliced cucumbers in a colander set over a bowl. Sprinkle with kosher salt, toss gently, and let sit for 15 minutes to draw out excess moisture. Pat dry with paper towels.
Make the dressing. In a medium bowl, whisk together the sour cream, vinegar, sugar, and grated garlic until smooth and well combined.
Combine. Add the drained cucumbers and dill to the dressing. Toss to coat evenly. Season with black pepper and adjust salt if needed.
Chill and serve. Refrigerate for at least 10 minutes before serving so the flavors can settle and the cucumbers stay crisp and cold. Serve alongside rice dishes, grilled fish, or any spring spread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Sour Cream Cucumbers — The Simplest Things Hold the Most