By Christmas morning. Owen woke at 5:52 and I was already awake, lying in the dark listening for him, the way I have been listening for him every morning for almost two years. Ryan was home. We brought both babies into our bed and lay in the dark for twenty minutes while they looked at the ceiling and made small sounds of presence and I thought about last Christmas, which was their first, and about Christmas Eve without Babcia Rose's golabki in the warming dish and how they were in the warming dish this year because I had made them, and how both things are true at once.
The presents: Owen opened his by taking them apart methodically, examining each piece, setting it aside. Nora opened hers by tearing the paper with full commitment and then looking to see what she had, and then picking up Owen's paper to tear it too, because the tearing was the best part and she had run out of her own. Ryan caught the moment Owen discovered his new toy truck — a real wooden one, the kind that will last — and I caught Owen's expression, which was: complete still focus, hand on the truck, absorbing the rightness of it. That face is going on the wall.
Christmas dinner was simple: leftover golabki from Christmas Eve, reheated, which improved overnight, which golabki always do, and roasted potatoes and a simple salad. Ryan made the potatoes. I made the salad. The babies ate the golabki and the potatoes with the appetite of people who have been expending energy all morning on presents and paper and the general demands of being almost two.
It was a good Christmas. It was a Christmas that held grief and joy in the same hands and did not drop either. I think that is the best you can do, some years. Both hands, hold both. That is enough.
I wrote that I made the salad, and I did, and it was this one — or close enough that it’s the one I’m writing down. Christmas dinner didn’t need anything complicated. The golabki were already doing the heavy lifting, the way they always do, and Ryan had the potatoes, and what the table needed was something fresh and bright and simple that could sit alongside all of it without demanding anything from anyone. That’s what this salad is. It takes fifteen minutes and it asks very little of you, which is exactly what Christmas Day leftovers call for.
Tomato Broccoli Salad
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 4 cups broccoli florets, cut small
- 2 cups cherry tomatoes, halved
- 1/3 cup red onion, finely diced
- 1/3 cup shredded Parmesan cheese
- 1/4 cup sunflower seeds or chopped walnuts
- 3 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 1 teaspoon honey
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- Salt and black pepper to taste
Instructions
- Prep the broccoli. Cut broccoli into small, bite-sized florets. If you prefer a softer texture, blanch in boiling salted water for 60 seconds, then transfer immediately to an ice bath and drain well. For a crisp salad, use raw.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, red wine vinegar, Dijon mustard, honey, and garlic powder until combined. Season with salt and pepper.
- Combine. In a large bowl, add the broccoli, halved cherry tomatoes, and diced red onion. Pour the dressing over and toss to coat evenly.
- Add toppings. Scatter the Parmesan and sunflower seeds (or walnuts) over the top. Toss gently once more.
- Rest and serve. Let the salad sit for 5–10 minutes before serving so the broccoli absorbs the dressing. Serve at room temperature or chilled.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 140 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 9g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 160mg