Wilted Lettuce Salad

Mid-February, the kind of cold that makes a pot of beans on the stove the right answer to everything. Three days of counseling at the middle school in East Point. The work was the work.

Daddy in his apartment in the back. I brought him his coffee and his medication this morning. He grumbled. The grumble was the love. Marcus, 20, studying for finals at Alabama.

Cornbread in the cast iron. No sugar — Mama would haunt me. Crisp edge. Soft middle.

Jasmine, 18, home from Howard for the weekend. Isaiah, 17, shot baskets in the driveway after school.

The week held. The kitchen held. We are still here.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. Some novel about a Black woman in 1960s Alabama. Mama would have liked it.

Derek and I had date night Friday. Same restaurant, same booth, same enchiladas for me and carne asada for him.

Tuesday evening I sat at the kitchen table with my composition notebook and worked on the cookbook. From Brenda's Kitchen — that's the working title. I cannot write the introduction without crying yet.

Darnell sent a photo from Clarksville. The garden is producing. He grew tomatoes the size of softballs. I sent him back a photo of my sweet potato casserole. We are competitive about food now in our middle age.

I had a hard counseling case at school this week. A seventh-grade girl whose mama lost her job. We talked. I gave her my number. I told her she could call.

Wednesday Bible study at the church. We read through Proverbs. The women in my row argued about whether wisdom is built or born. I said both. They agreed, sort of.

Saturday morning I had Set the Table at the Cascade Heights center. Twelve young women. We did baked chicken. One of them — Imani, sixteen — was so afraid of seasoning that she barely shook the salt. I stood next to her and put my hand over hers and said, baby, you cannot be afraid of food. We seasoned the chicken. The chicken came out right. She glowed.

I drove to the Walmart on Camp Creek Saturday morning. The kind of grocery run that takes two hours because you run into three people you know. Sister Patrice caught me in the produce. We talked about her grandbaby for fifteen minutes.

Thursday I made cornbread for a sister at church whose husband had surgery. I dropped it off at the hospital. She cried at the door. I told her, eat the cornbread, baby. The food is the saying.

Miss Ernestine called Tuesday. She's ninety-something and sharp as ever. She told me my potato salad still needs more mustard.

The kids were home for the weekend. The house was loud the way it should be.

Daddy sat in his chair after dinner watching the news. He fell asleep before the third quarter. Standard.

Sunday service at New Birth this morning. The choir sang. I sang soprano in the second alto row. Pastor preached about Naomi and Ruth. The congregation said amen. I said amen.

The blood pressure check was Wednesday. The numbers were borderline. The doctor wants me to walk more. I am walking more.

Pastor preached about the prodigal son again. He preaches about that boy at least three times a year. The text is the text but every preaching is different. I cried in the second service this time. Don't ask me why.

I went to the cemetery Saturday morning. Brenda's grave is on the hill at South-View. Curtis still goes most Sundays. I left a small bouquet of magnolias.

Cornbread in the cast iron anchored the whole week — but cornbread never eats alone at my table. This wilted lettuce salad is the quiet partner, the one that comes together fast while the bread is still in the oven, the one Mama made when the garden was giving and the stove was already hot. It’s not fancy. It’s honest. And after a week of carrying other people’s weight — the girl whose mama lost her job, the sister at the hospital door — honest food is exactly what I needed to set in front of my family.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

8 cups fresh leaf lettuce, torn into pieces (about 1 large head)
4 strips thick-cut bacon
3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt
4 green onions, thinly sliced
2 hard-boiled eggs, sliced (optional)

Instructions

Prep the greens. Wash and dry the lettuce thoroughly. Tear into bite-sized pieces and place in a large heat-safe bowl. Scatter the sliced green onions over the top. Set aside.
Cook the bacon. In a skillet over medium heat, cook the bacon until crisp. Remove the bacon to a paper-towel-lined plate, reserving all drippings in the pan. Crumble the bacon once cooled.
Build the warm dressing. With the skillet still over medium heat, carefully add the apple cider vinegar, sugar, salt, and black pepper to the bacon drippings. Stir to combine and bring just to a simmer, about 1 minute. Do not let it reduce too long — you want enough dressing to coat the greens.
Wilt the salad. Pour the hot dressing immediately over the lettuce and green onions. Toss quickly with tongs so the greens wilt slightly but do not fully cook. They should soften at the edges while holding some body in the center.
Finish and serve. Top with crumbled bacon and sliced hard-boiled eggs if using. Serve immediately alongside cornbread or as a starter — this salad waits for no one.

Nutrition (per serving)

Wilted Lettuce Salad — The Side Dish That Sits Quiet Beside the Cornbread