By Portland winter. The dark at four-thirty PM. The rain on the porch. Yoga Tuesday and Thursday at the studio. The classes were full. The body was the body.
Miya, 9, can shape onigiri without falling apart. She uses wet hands. She knows the order without being told.
Kabocha simmered in dashi and soy. The squash sweet. The broth thick. The bowl warm.
The shiso. The chipped bowl. The newsletter on Sunday.
A panic flicker Tuesday evening, brief, manageable. I breathed. I drank water. I went outside and walked around the block. The flicker passed. The body did its work.
Made dashi at five-thirty AM. Ten minutes in the kitchen alone with the kombu and the bonito flakes. The day's first prayer.
I made onigiri for tomorrow's lunch. Three triangles. Salted plum in the center. Wrapped in nori. The cling wrap. The drawer where I keep them. The system.
Sunday farmers market in the rain. The vendors knew me. The Hood River apple stand had honeycrisps. I bought four pounds.
Miya's old room is now my office. The desk is by the window. The shiso outside. The newsletter in progress. The afternoons are quiet.
Tomi watered the garden Saturday morning. The shiso was head-high. The shishito peppers were producing. The kabocha was running on the fence.
I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. Wiped the counters. Reorganized the drawer where the chopsticks live. Sharpened the knife. The reset was the reset.
I read for an hour Sunday night. A book of essays by a Korean-American writer about food and grief. I underlined a paragraph that said exactly what I had been trying to say in the newsletter for months.
A reader sent me a handwritten card this week. Her grandmother had cooked Japanese food in 1970s Boise. She had felt alone in it. The newsletter, she wrote, made her feel less alone. I taped the card to the wall above my desk.
Therapy Tuesday. We talked about the wedding. We talked about Barbara. We talked about Fumiko. The hour passed. The work continues.
Coffee with a friend Saturday morning. We talked about books, about kids, about the way our forties became our fifties. The talking is the thing.
The rain in long sheets Tuesday afternoon. I made tea. I watched it from the porch. The cottonwoods on the next block were silver in the wet.
I texted Miya a photo of the shiso. She texted back a heart and a single word: home.
I drove to Uwajimaya Wednesday. Kombu, bonito flakes, white miso, a small bag of mochiko for tomorrow's project. The store smells like home.
I wrote at the kitchen table from six to eight. The newsletter was forming. The opening sentence was the hard sentence — they always are. I rewrote it five times. The fifth time was the right time.
The cat was the cat. Mochi at fifteen sleeps most of the day. She still eats with enthusiasm. She still sits at the kitchen window watching the back garden.
The neighbor's dog barked at nothing for twenty minutes Sunday afternoon. The neighbor apologized. I told him I had been writing through it and the white noise was helpful. He laughed.
Miya is in elementary school. The Saturday Japanese school continues. She still complains. She is still going.
Yoga Tuesday morning. The studio in Sellwood. Eight students. The class was the class.
Tomi’s garden has been generous this year — shiso practically taking over, shishito peppers coming in faster than we can use them, and cucumbers doing what cucumbers always do, which is produce more than you planned for. After a week of early mornings at the kitchen table and kabocha simmering on the stove, I found myself wanting something cool and sharp to set beside all that warmth. This tangy cucumber salad is the answer I keep coming back to: fast enough for a Tuesday, bright enough to wake up a quiet dinner, and exactly the kind of thing that makes you glad you went to the farmers market in the rain.
Tangy Cucumber Salad
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 2 large English cucumbers, thinly sliced
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/4 cup rice vinegar
- 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
- 1 teaspoon sesame oil
- 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
- 3 green onions, thinly sliced
- 1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds
- Fresh shiso or mint leaves, torn, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Salt the cucumbers. Place the sliced cucumbers in a colander set over a bowl. Sprinkle with kosher salt, toss to coat, and let stand for 10 to 15 minutes to draw out excess moisture. Pat dry with paper towels.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the rice vinegar, sugar, and sesame oil until the sugar is fully dissolved.
- Combine. Transfer the dried cucumbers to a serving bowl. Add the green onions and red pepper flakes, then pour the dressing over the top. Toss gently to coat.
- Rest briefly. Let the salad sit at room temperature for 5 minutes, or refrigerate for up to 30 minutes if you prefer it cold. The cucumbers will absorb the dressing and become more flavorful as they sit.
- Serve. Scatter sesame seeds and torn shiso or mint leaves over the top just before serving.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 60 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 2g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 160mg