Torn Olives with Almonds, Celery & Parmesan

Late June, and the cookbook is in production — Catherine Wells reports that the cover design is underway, the typesetting is complete, the book is becoming the physical object that will sit on shelves and be opened by hands that never touched Mama's hands but that will, through the reading, understand what those hands made and why the making mattered.

I gave my retirement notice at the library. The giving was formal — a letter to the director, a meeting with the board — and the formality was the respect, the respect for an institution that has been my workplace for thirty years and that deserves the same precision in leaving that I brought to every day of working. The response was warm and predictable: surprise, congratulations, the particular gratitude that institutions express when they realize that the person who is leaving has been the institution's beating heart and that the heartbeat will now have to be supplied by someone else.

James called on Sunday. I told him about the retirement. He said, "What will you do?" I said, "Write." He said, "The cookbook is done." I said, "The next one isn't." And the "next one" was the surprise — to James, who did not know there was a next one, and to me, who did not know there was a next one until I said it, and the saying was the knowing, and the knowing was the beginning.

The next book will pair recipes with literature — Lowcountry food with the books I associate with it, the shrimp and grits with Morrison, the she-crab soup with Pat Conroy, the cobbler with Hurston. The book will be called "The Librarian's Table," and the name arrived the way the best names arrive: fully formed, at five AM, at the desk, with the coffee.

I made she-crab soup on Sunday. The soup is the constant. The constant is the life. The life continues.

The she-crab soup is the constant — I wrote that, and I meant it — but before the soup comes the waiting, the prep, the quiet of the kitchen at an early hour when the next book is still just a name and a feeling. This torn olive dish is what I put together in that waiting space: briny and bright, something to eat standing at the counter before the serious work of the pot begins. It felt right on Sunday, and it feels right here, at the beginning of whatever comes next for “The Librarian’s Table.”

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

Ingredients

1 cup mixed olives (Castelvetrano, Kalamata, or your preference), pitted and torn in half
1/4 cup whole roasted almonds, roughly chopped
2 stalks celery, thinly sliced on the bias, leaves reserved
1 oz Parmesan, shaved with a vegetable peeler
1 tablespoon good olive oil
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
Freshly cracked black pepper, to taste

Instructions

Tear the olives. Using your fingers or a paring knife, tear or halve the olives so the rough edges catch the dressing. This is more satisfying than slicing — and the texture is better for it.
Combine the base. In a medium bowl, toss together the torn olives, chopped almonds, and sliced celery until evenly distributed.
Dress. Drizzle olive oil and lemon juice over the mixture. Add the red pepper flakes and a generous crack of black pepper. Toss gently to coat.
Plate and finish. Transfer to a shallow serving dish or board. Lay the Parmesan shavings across the top and scatter any reserved celery leaves over everything.
Serve immediately. This dish is best eaten fresh, at room temperature, alongside good bread or before a bowl of something warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Torn Olives with Almonds, Celery & Parmesan — The Constant on the Table Before the Soup