Tomato Basil Salad

The heat broke this week and Portland exhaled. We went from ninety-five degrees to seventy-two overnight, and the city responded by putting on cardigans and acting like the previous two weeks of sweltering had been a personal insult. I opened all the windows in the apartment and let the cool air in and Miya lay on her play mat kicking her feet in what I interpreted as temperature-related joy but was probably just kicking.

I made a cold tofu dish this week — hiyayakko — which is one of the simplest and most perfect Japanese foods. A block of silken tofu, chilled, topped with grated ginger, sliced scallions, bonito flakes, and a drizzle of soy sauce. That is it. That is the whole recipe. It takes three minutes to prepare and it tastes like summer distilled into a single bowl. Fumiko makes it every day in August. She says the tofu cools the body from the inside, which may or may not be true scientifically but is absolutely true experientially. I ate it on the balcony while the evening cooled around me and I felt restored in a way that nothing else could accomplish.

Brian and I had our third couples therapy session. Janet asked us about our families of origin. Brian talked about his Irish Catholic upbringing in Tigard — the noise, the family dinners, the uncomplicated warmth of a house full of Callahans. I talked about the silence. The two homes, the two daughters, the Japanese side and the American side. Janet said, "So Brian is comfortable in noise and Jen is comfortable in quiet." Yes. That is it exactly. And Miya will grow up in both, the way I did, learning to be two people, and I hope — I desperately hope — that she finds a way to be one person sooner than I did.

Miya is sitting up now, with support. She props her hands on the floor and balances like a tiny sumo wrestler preparing for a match. She topples sideways every thirty seconds, but the thirty seconds of sitting are triumphant. I cheer every time. Brian says I am going to give her a complex. I say I am going to give her the knowledge that someone notices when she succeeds. These are not the same thing.

I started writing a post about the Japanese concept of shun — the peak season of an ingredient, the exact moment when a food is at its best. Tomatoes are in shun right now. So are peaches. So is corn. The post is about paying attention to timing, about eating in alignment with the world's calendar instead of the grocery store's. It is also, of course, about everything else — about the timing of motherhood, of marriage, of anxiety, of the moments that are at their peak and the moments that have passed. I am always writing about two things at once. The food and the feeling. They are the same sentence.

I wrote this week about shun — the Japanese idea of eating an ingredient at its exact peak — and tomatoes are in shun right now, undeniably, in a way that feels almost urgent. After a week of silken tofu and cool balconies and therapy sessions about who I am and where I come from, I wanted something that asked nothing of me except attention: ripe tomatoes, good oil, fresh basil, salt. This tomato basil salad is not Japanese, but it belongs to the same philosophy — stop. Notice. Eat what is perfect today, because in three weeks it won’t be.

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

Ingredients

2 pounds ripe tomatoes (heirloom, beefsteak, or a mix of cherry and slicing), sliced or halved
1/3 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1 small clove garlic, minced or pressed
1/2 teaspoon flaky sea salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Optional: 1/4 cup thinly sliced red onion, soaked in cold water for 10 minutes and drained

Instructions

Slice the tomatoes. Cut larger tomatoes into 1/4-inch rounds or wedges; halve cherry tomatoes. Arrange on a wide, shallow platter in a single overlapping layer.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, red wine vinegar, and minced garlic until combined.
Dress and season. Drizzle the dressing evenly over the tomatoes. Sprinkle with flaky sea salt and black pepper. Add the red onion slices if using.
Add the basil. Scatter torn basil leaves over the top just before serving so they stay bright and fragrant.
Rest briefly. Let the salad sit for 5 minutes at room temperature before serving — the tomatoes will release some of their juices and mingle with the dressing into something that tastes like the height of summer.

Nutrition (per serving)

Tomato Basil Salad — Eating in Shun, Paying Attention