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Sugar Snap Pea Salad With Tahini -- The Cold, Bright Thing a Hot July Needs

July is hot and the ranch work is relentless — twice-daily cattle checks, keeping the tanks full in the heat, moving the herd to the better grass in the north pasture as the south burns off. I've been up before five every day this week, doing the first check in the gray light before the sun clears the Bull Mountains to the east, the air still cool and smelling like grass and river water before the heat claims it.

The farrier symposium registration opened and I sent mine in for October. Tom Whelan is going too. He said, "You'll be the youngest person there by twenty years." I said that sounded about right. He said, "Good. The young people are the only reason the old people bother going." Tom Whelan has been shoeing horses for forty years and he still goes to the symposium. That says something about how you stay good at something.

I got a message through the blog from a man in Wyoming who said he'd been reading my posts since the campfire biscuits one and that he was a veteran and that he cooked outside when things got bad, the way I described. He didn't say much more than that. He said thank you. I sat with that message for a while before I replied, because I wanted to say the right thing, which ended up being: "You're welcome. Keep the fire going." I don't know his name or his war or what happened. I know he's cooking outside when things get bad. That's enough. That's what I wanted.

Mom made her summer chicken salad this week — poached chicken, celery, green grapes, pecans, a little mayonnaise and lemon. A cold summer thing for hot days. I ate it three times. The grapes are the right choice for the same reason fruit in savory food always makes sense in summer: the heat makes you want sweetness and acidity in a way winter doesn't.

Mom’s chicken salad this week — the grapes, the lemon, the cold of it straight from the refrigerator — reminded me why summer food works differently than any other season. When you’re up before five and the heat owns the afternoon, you stop wanting anything heavy; you want something that snaps back at you a little, something with brightness and crunch. This sugar snap pea salad with tahini is that same logic: sweet from the peas, nutty and sharp from the tahini, cold enough to make a long day feel shorter. It’s the kind of thing you make fast and eat grateful.

Sugar Snap Pea Salad With Tahini

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 1 lb fresh sugar snap peas, strings removed, halved on the diagonal
  • 3 tablespoons tahini
  • 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 1 tablespoon warm water, plus more to thin as needed
  • 1 small garlic clove, finely grated
  • 1/2 teaspoon honey
  • 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
  • 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
  • 2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
  • 3 green onions, thinly sliced
  • 1/4 cup fresh mint or flat-leaf parsley leaves, roughly torn

Instructions

  1. Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the tahini, lemon juice, olive oil, warm water, grated garlic, honey, and salt until smooth. If the dressing is too thick, add warm water one teaspoon at a time until it reaches a pourable consistency. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
  2. Prep the peas. Trim and string the snap peas if you haven’t already, then halve them on the diagonal so each piece shows the inside. Transfer to a large bowl.
  3. Dress and toss. Pour the tahini dressing over the snap peas and toss well to coat. Add the sliced green onions and torn herbs and toss once more.
  4. Finish and serve. Transfer to a serving plate or bowl. Scatter the toasted sesame seeds over the top and sprinkle with red pepper flakes. Serve immediately, or refrigerate for up to an hour — the peas hold their crunch well cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 165 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 160mg

Ryan Gallagher
About the cook who shared this
Ryan Gallagher
Week 121 of Ryan’s 30-year story · Billings, Montana
Ryan is a thirty-one-year-old Army veteran and ranch hand in Billings, Montana, who cooks over open fire because microwaves feel dishonest and because the quiet of a campfire is the only therapy that works for him consistently. He hunts his own elk, catches his own trout, and makes a camp stew that tastes like the mountains smell. He doesn't talk much. But his food says everything.

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