Spinach and Artichoke Quinoa Salad

June. The international cooking project begins. Week one: Thai green curry. Miya and I made the curry paste from scratch — lemongrass, galangal, cilantro, green chilies, garlic — and the apartment smelled like Bangkok for an hour, which was a geographical impossibility and a sensory fact. We served the curry over Japanese rice (not Thai jasmine — our rice, the rice of this kitchen, the rice that came from Uwajimaya, the rice that is the default, the constant) and the combination was: Thai curry, Japanese rice, Portland kitchen. Three countries in one bowl.

Miya stirred the curry and said, "This isn't Japanese." I said, "No, it's Thai." She said, "But we're making it in our kitchen." I said, "Yes." She said, "So it's Japanese-Thai." The hyphen was correct. The hyphen was the cooking. The cooking is always the hyphen — the thing between, the thing that connects, the line that says: these two things are together now, and the together is the dish.

I wrote a blog post about the project — about cooking internationally with a Japanese sensibility, about the way the grandmother's teaching extends beyond the grandmother's cuisine, about the way precision and seasonality and respect for ingredients are not Japanese values but universal values that Fumiko happened to teach me through Japanese food. The post was popular — twenty-four thousand readers now, the readership climbing with each column and each essay and the steady accumulation of the blog's eight-year archive.

I started writing the Japan chapter for the second book — the two-kitchens book. The chapter is about the trip I will take with Miya in five years, the trip that exists only in anticipation, the trip that is a chapter before it is a journey. The writing-before-the-doing is a writer's privilege: you can describe a place you've never been, a meal you've never eaten, a moment you haven't had, and the description is not dishonest. The description is the longing made visible. The longing is the truth. Japan is the truth. Japan has been the truth since Fumiko left it and never returned.

That week of green curry, of Japanese rice in a Thai-scented kitchen, reminded me that the bowl is never just one thing — and that the combining is the point. When I wanted to stay close to that feeling on a quieter night, I turned to this Spinach and Artichoke Quinoa Salad: a grain that isn’t from anywhere Miya or I call home, greens that Fumiko would have recognized, a dressing that’s just lemon and oil and honesty. It’s the same hyphen in a different shape — the line between, the thing that says these ingredients are together now, and the together is the meal.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 cup quinoa, rinsed well under cold water
2 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
3 cups fresh baby spinach, loosely packed
1 can (14 oz) artichoke hearts in water, drained and quartered
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/4 cup red onion, finely diced
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 large lemon)
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Instructions

Cook the quinoa. Combine rinsed quinoa and vegetable broth in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 15 minutes until all liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat and let stand, covered, for 5 minutes. Fluff with a fork and spread onto a sheet pan to cool for 10 minutes.
Make the dressing. Whisk together olive oil, lemon juice, minced garlic, oregano, salt, and pepper in a small bowl until fully combined. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Prep the vegetables. While the quinoa cools, drain and quarter the artichoke hearts, halve the cherry tomatoes, and finely dice the red onion.
Combine. In a large mixing bowl, toss the cooled quinoa with the spinach, artichoke hearts, cherry tomatoes, and red onion. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss gently to coat. The residual warmth from the quinoa will slightly wilt the spinach — this is intentional and good.
Finish and serve. Transfer to a serving bowl or individual plates and scatter crumbled feta over the top. Serve immediately, or refrigerate for up to 2 days; the flavors deepen as it sits. Bring to room temperature before serving if made ahead.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spinach and Artichoke Quinoa Salad — When Every Bowl Holds a Different World