Warm Apple & Pistachio Spinach Salad

Christmas Eve Tuesday. Cole and Tara arrived at three in the afternoon with a car full of presents and food. Tara is moving slow but bright. Cole has not slept much in three weeks because Tara has been having trouble sleeping and he sleeps when she sleeps, which is in twenty-minute increments. He has the look of a soon-to-be father which is a look I have only seen on other men and which is a particular kind of tiredness that I have, until now, only known about secondhand.

Marcus made a hundred days Saturday before Christmas. He came by Sunday afternoon to the porch, alone, and he stood on the porch step and he said, Hundred. I said, I see you. He said, I did not think I would. I said, I know. We sat on the porch for thirty minutes in fifteen-degree weather with our hands wrapped around mugs of coffee and we did not say much else. He said, on the way to his truck, Thanks. Just that. Thanks. I said, Marcus. He turned. I said, Eight years. He said, What. I said, I have been at it eight years. He said, Yeah. I said, I will be at it eight years and ten months when you hit the year. He said, Okay. He drove home. The hundred is past. The year is the next number. He will get there. The hundred used to feel like the test. The hundred is now the floor.

Christmas Eve dinner Tuesday I cooked a goose. The first goose I have ever cooked. Cole had brought it from a hunter friend in Bozeman. I had been studying the goose for a week — different from chicken, different from turkey, fatty, dark-meated, prone to drying out — and I cooked it Tuesday afternoon at three twenty-five for two and a half hours, basting with the pan fat every twenty minutes, the cavity stuffed with apples and onions and prunes from a jar Mom had put up in 2022 because Mom puts up prunes for reasons known only to her. The goose came out the color of polished chestnut. The fat had rendered. The meat was tender. We ate at six in the evening. Patrick had two pieces. Cole had three. Tara had a half-piece because the baby was sitting on her stomach, and a piece of the apple stuffing, and two helpings of the gravy I had made from the drippings. Mom had a piece. I had two. The bird was the right call. Goose is going to become a Christmas thing for me, I think. Some birds you cook once and put away. Some birds you cook once and start a tradition with.

Christmas morning Wednesday we exchanged presents. Quiet. Mom gave me a sweater she had knitted. I gave Patrick a wool blanket. Cole gave me a knife. Tara gave Mom a framed ultrasound photo. Patrick gave Tara a small box. He had written something inside the lid in his shaky hand. He would not let any of us see it before he gave it to her. Tara opened the box. There was a silver necklace inside, a thin chain with a small Saint Christopher medal, the medal Patrick had worn in the Air Force. Tara held it for a long time. She did not read what was written in the lid out loud. She put it on. She kissed Patrick on the forehead. He held her hand. She cried. He cried. Mom cried. Cole cried. I did not cry but it was a near thing. The medal had been Patrick's grandfather's before it was Patrick's. It is now Maggie's. Patrick will probably not be alive when Maggie is old enough to wear it. He has handed it down two generations because he wants to be sure it gets where it belongs. Tara understood. She is going to keep it for Maggie. The morning was quiet. The morning was huge.

Cole and Tara left Christmas Day evening to drive back to Bozeman before the next snow. Patrick went to bed at eight. Mom and I sat by the woodstove until ten. We did not say much. Saturday cookout was small — five men — because the holiday weekend pulled the rest. Vince and Pete and Marcus and Tom and one of the new guys. We had goose leftovers and Mom's stuffing and a Christmas pudding I had made for the first time and that came out passably. The fire was small. The night was long. The men ate and went home. I went to bed at eleven and slept until eight Sunday morning and the year is six days from being over and I am thirty and I have a niece coming in six weeks and Patrick is alive and the goose was the right call. The fire helps.

The apples and prunes in that goose cavity were not a grand plan — they were what we had, including a jar of Mom’s 2022 prunes, which tells you something about Mom. But the apples specifically did something to the bird from the inside out, and the stuffing that came out of the cavity was the thing Tara went back for twice. I keep thinking about warm fruit and greens together now, the way sweetness holds up against something rich and fatty. This salad is not the goose, but it has the same idea in it — apples, warmth, something a little unexpected — and on a quiet winter night when the woodstove is going, it is exactly the right thing alongside whatever you are roasting.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

6 cups fresh baby spinach
2 medium apples, cored and thinly sliced (Honeycrisp or Fuji work well)
1/2 cup shelled roasted pistachios
1/4 cup dried cranberries
1/4 cup crumbled goat cheese or feta
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 small shallot, thinly sliced

Instructions

Warm the dressing. In a small skillet over medium heat, warm the olive oil. Add the shallot and cook 2–3 minutes until softened and just beginning to turn golden. Whisk in the apple cider vinegar, honey, and Dijon mustard. Season with salt and pepper. Keep warm over low heat.
Sauté the apples. Add the apple slices to the skillet and cook 2–3 minutes, turning once, until just tender and lightly caramelized at the edges. Do not let them turn to mush — you want a little structure left in them.
Build the salad. Place the spinach in a large serving bowl. Pour the warm apple and dressing mixture directly over the spinach and toss gently — the heat will slightly wilt the spinach, which is what you want.
Finish and serve. Top with pistachios, dried cranberries, and crumbled goat cheese. Serve immediately while the salad is still warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Warm Apple & Pistachio Spinach Salad — The Apples That Started a Tradition