Strawberry Arugula Salad

The heat is here. June in Savannah, and the air has decided it is no longer air — it is warm soup. You step outside and the humidity wraps around you like a wet towel that has feelings about your comfort and those feelings are negative. I have lived through sixty-nine Savannah Junes and every one has been exactly this: brutal, relentless, and completely without apology. The heat doesn't care about your plans. The heat just sits on the city like a cat on a keyboard and does whatever it wants.

The garden is thriving because the garden loves what I tolerate. Tomatoes are ripening — Cherokee Purples coming in heavy now, three or four a day, more than I can eat and exactly enough to give away, which is what a garden is for. You grow more than you need so you can give to people who need what you have. Hattie Pearl taught me that. The garden taught me that. The whole Lowcountry taught me that — abundance is not for hoarding. Abundance is for handing across the fence to your neighbor with a "Here, baby, I had extra."

Kayla is twenty-eight weeks now. Seven months. Michael Devon Brooks is the size of a head of cauliflower, and I have asked Kayla to stop comparing my grandson to vegetables but she says the app does it automatically and the app is more stubborn than I am, which I doubt. She's big. Beautifully big. Her feet are swollen and her back hurts and she still works full shifts at Memorial because Kayla Henderson-Brooks does not slow down. She gets this from me. This is not a compliment — it's a diagnosis. The women in this family work until the work is done, and the work is never done, and the body pays the price while the spirit keeps going.

Devon has painted the nursery. Yellow. "Gender-neutral," he said. "Devon," I said, "you know it's a boy." "What if the next one is a girl?" he said. I looked at him. "Devon Brooks, you are painting a room for a baby who isn't born yet and you're already planning the next one?" He grinned. Kayla threw a pillow at him. The pillow missed. The love didn't.

Made tomato pie tonight. The summer dish. Cherokee Purple tomatoes, layered with basil and cheese in a pie crust, baked until the cheese bubbles and the tomatoes melt into something that is not quite pie and not quite pizza and not quite quiche but is entirely summer in a dish. This is the food that June demands. This is the food that answers the heat with abundance. This is tomato pie, and it does not apologize.

Now go on and feed somebody.

When the tomato pie comes out of the oven, the kitchen is even hotter than it was before, which takes real effort in June. I’ve learned over sixty-nine Savannah summers that a rich, bubbling pie wants something cool and bright alongside it — something that says garden without saying more heat. This strawberry arugula salad is exactly that: peppery greens, sweet summer berries, a sharp vinaigrette, and done in the time it takes the pie to rest. I’ve been carrying this one to Kayla’s porch all month, because a woman working full shifts at Memorial at twenty-eight weeks deserves a plate that does most of the work for her.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 10 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

5 oz fresh baby arugula
1 1/2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
1/3 cup crumbled goat cheese or feta
1/4 cup candied or toasted pecans
1/4 small red onion, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon honey
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, balsamic vinegar, honey, Dijon mustard, salt, and pepper until emulsified. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.
Prep the salad base. Place the arugula in a large wide salad bowl. Scatter the sliced strawberries and red onion evenly over the top.
Add toppings. Sprinkle the crumbled goat cheese and pecans over the salad. Do not toss yet — keep the layers visible for serving.
Dress and serve. Drizzle the vinaigrette over the salad just before serving. Toss gently once or twice to lightly coat without wilting the arugula. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Strawberry Arugula Salad — Summer on a Plate, Right Alongside the Pie