Memorial Day. This day hits different in a military family.
There's the version civilians get — barbecues, sales at Macy's, the unofficial start of summer. And then there's the version we get, which includes all of those things but also includes my father standing in the backyard at 0600 in silence, facing east, because two men from his unit are buried at Arlington and he never forgets, not for one day, that he came home and they didn't.
Mom doesn't interrupt him. She makes coffee, sets it on the patio table, and goes back inside. He drinks it when he's ready. Some years that takes five minutes. Some years it takes an hour. This year it was about twenty minutes. He came in, kissed Mom on the cheek, and said, 'Let's grill.'
So we grilled. Because that's what you do on Memorial Day in the Abernathy house — you honor the dead by feeding the living. Dad manned the grill (he takes this seriously; there is a Proper Way to grill a burger and he will tell you about it). Mom made her potato salad, which is the gold standard against which all other potato salads are measured and found wanting. Red potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, celery, red onion, mayo, mustard, a little sweet pickle relish, and salt and pepper. That's it. No fancy stuff. No bacon bits or truffle oil or whatever Instagram thinks potato salad needs. Just the classics, executed perfectly.
Dad grilled burgers and hot dogs and a few chicken breasts for Megan, who is 'trying to eat healthier' (Megan is always trying something). The neighbors came over — Mr. and Mrs. Chen from next door and the Rodriguezes from across the street. This is the one house where we've actually had neighbors long enough to know their names. Four years. Four years in one place. Granby High School and this house on Chesapeake Avenue and these neighbors and this backyard where my father grills burgers and remembers the dead.
I sometimes wonder what it would have been like to grow up in one place. To have a bedroom that was always mine. To walk to school the same way every day. To have friends I'd known since kindergarten instead of friends I'd known since last September. Would I be different? Would I be less adaptable, less good at reading rooms, less able to make conversation with strangers? Probably. Would I be more settled, more rooted, more certain of who I am? Probably that too.
Trade-offs. Everything's a trade-off.
Tonight, after everyone left, Mom and I sat on the porch with the last of the potato salad and she told me about the Memorial Days during deployments — the ones where Dad was overseas and she took Megan and me to the ceremony on base and stood there holding two little girls and an American flag and prayed. 'You were too young to remember the first ones,' she said. 'Megan remembers. But you were a baby.'
I was a baby. And my mother was a young woman standing alone on Memorial Day with a baby and a toddler and a husband in a war zone, and she didn't break. She made potato salad.
Two weeks until graduation. The whiteboard is almost empty.
Mom’s potato salad has always been the thing that shows up when it matters most — at the end of a long weekend, at the edge of a hard memory, on a porch when there’s nothing left to say but everything still feels heavy. I’ve watched her make it a hundred times, and this weekend I finally made it myself, because some recipes aren’t just food — they’re a way of holding things together. Here’s how she makes it, and now how I make it too.
Classic Red Potato Salad
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Chill Time: 1 hr | Total Time: 1 hr 40 min | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 3 lbs red potatoes, cut into 3/4-inch chunks
- 4 large eggs
- 3 stalks celery, thinly sliced
- 1/2 medium red onion, finely diced
- 3/4 cup mayonnaise
- 2 tablespoons yellow mustard
- 3 tablespoons sweet pickle relish
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for boiling
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- Paprika for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Boil the potatoes. Place potato chunks in a large pot and cover with cold, well-salted water. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to a steady simmer. Cook 12–15 minutes, until a fork slides in easily but the potatoes hold their shape. Drain and spread on a sheet pan to cool completely. Do not rinse.
- Hard-boil the eggs. Place eggs in a small saucepan and cover with cold water by 1 inch. Bring to a full boil, cover, remove from heat, and let sit 11 minutes. Transfer immediately to an ice bath. Once cool, peel and roughly chop.
- Make the dressing. In a large bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, mustard, sweet pickle relish, salt, and pepper until smooth.
- Combine. Add the cooled potatoes, chopped eggs, celery, and red onion to the bowl. Fold gently until everything is evenly coated. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed.
- Chill. Cover and refrigerate at least 1 hour before serving. The flavor improves as it sits. Dust lightly with paprika before serving if desired.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 290 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 31g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 390mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 10 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.