Strawberry Spinach Salad

May. Destiny graduates in two weeks. She has been at UAB for four years—she started as a junior transfer, technically, having come in with two years from community college, so this is her second graduation but her first bachelor's degree, in social work, and she has earned every credit with the fierce diligence that Destiny applies to everything she has decided matters. I am proud of her in the way you can only be proud of a child who has become themselves—not what you imagined them to be but what they actually are, which is always a surprise and always exactly right.

I asked her what she wanted for graduation dinner and she said, without hesitation: "Everything you cook for Sunday dinner, Mama. All of it." Which is the answer I expected and wanted. Not a restaurant, not something special and different—the standard. The thing that means home. Fried chicken, collard greens, mac and cheese, cornbread, sweet potato pie. The full Simms Sunday dinner, which is Bernice's menu, which is Destiny's childhood on a plate.

Bernice's Table on Tuesday had thirty-three people this week. I've started keeping a number on the back of the serving sign-in sheet—nothing formal, just a tally mark for each person who comes through the line. The tally is climbing. I want to be able to say, at the end of this year, how many meals we served. Not for the church bulletin—though they may want that—but for myself, for Bernice, for the account I will render someday about what I did with the life I was given after Marcus. How many plates? Thirty-three this week. I am going to get it to a hundred. I will not stop until I get it to a hundred.

I made strawberry shortcake this week because the strawberries at the farmers market were exactly right—the small ones, the red ones that go all the way through rather than being white in the middle, the ones that taste like what strawberries are supposed to taste like before grocery stores decided that size mattered more than flavor. I bought a full flat. I made shortcake from scratch—real biscuit shortcake, not the sponge cake imposters—and whipped cream by hand and I ate it on the back porch in the May evening with Calvin and we were quiet and the dogwood was still holding a few late blossoms and the air was warm and right and the strawberries were perfect.

Those farmers market strawberries—the small ones, the red ones—deserved more than one night on the back porch. I had a full flat and a heart still full from thinking about Destiny and Bernice’s Table and all the things that feel like they’re coming together this May, and I wanted a way to keep those berries on the table a little longer. This strawberry spinach salad is the kind of dish I reach for when something beautiful is already in my hands and I just need to let it be what it is.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

6 cups fresh baby spinach, washed and dried
2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
1/2 cup sliced almonds, toasted
1/4 cup red onion, thinly sliced
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons honey
1/4 cup olive oil
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the balsamic vinegar, honey, Dijon mustard, and olive oil until emulsified. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.
Toast the almonds. In a dry skillet over medium heat, toast the sliced almonds for 2—3 minutes, stirring frequently, until golden and fragrant. Remove from heat and let cool.
Assemble the salad. Place the spinach in a large serving bowl. Arrange the sliced strawberries and red onion over the top.
Add toppings. Scatter the toasted almonds and crumbled feta evenly over the salad.
Dress and serve. Drizzle the dressing over the salad just before serving and toss gently to coat. Serve immediately while the spinach is crisp and the berries are bright.

Nutrition (per serving)

Strawberry Spinach Salad — When the Berries Are Exactly Right