Fruit and Vegetable Salad -- Something Fresh for the Table When the Summer Gets Heavy

Atlanta summer — ninety-four degrees by noon. 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, 21, studying for finals at Alabama.

Baked beans for the cookout. Bacon, brown sugar, mustard, onion. Slow simmer.

Jasmine, 18, home from Howard for the weekend. Isaiah, 18, called from Charlotte — coaching season starting.

I called Mama at the stove without realizing I was doing it. Some habits are the love.

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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 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.

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.

Andre called from LA. He told the Kevin Hart story again. Twenty-some years and that boy is still telling that story. Everyone in this family is going to hear about Kevin Hart at our funerals.

After that Wednesday blood pressure check and the doctor’s gentle nudge about eating a little lighter, I started thinking about what I was setting on the table alongside the baked beans and the sweet potato casserole. This fruit and vegetable salad — cool, bright, and honest — became my answer to that: something that feels like a kindness to your own body without asking you to give up anything at the table. It belongs right next to the slow-simmered beans at a cookout, and it comes together fast enough that you still have time to run into Sister Patrice in the produce aisle and hear every update about the grandbaby.

Fruit and Vegetable Salad

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 6 cups chopped romaine lettuce
• 1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and halved
• 1 cup fresh blueberries
• 1 cup seedless red grapes, halved
• 1 English cucumber, quartered and sliced
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
• 1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
• 1 cup broccoli florets, cut small
• 1/2 cup shredded carrots
• 1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
• 1/4 cup toasted sunflower seeds or pecans
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

1. Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, apple cider vinegar, honey, salt, and black pepper until fully combined. Taste and adjust seasoning. Set aside.
2. Prep the produce. Wash and dry all fruit and vegetables thoroughly. Chop, slice, and halve everything as directed in the ingredients list. Keeping pieces bite-sized and uniform means every forkful has a little of everything.
3. Build the base. Spread the romaine across a large serving bowl or platter. This is your foundation — make it generous.
4. Layer the colors. Arrange the cucumber, cherry tomatoes, broccoli, carrots, and red onion over the greens. Then scatter the strawberries, blueberries, and grapes across the top so the color shows.
5. Finish and dress. Sprinkle the feta and toasted seeds or pecans over everything. Drizzle the dressing around the edges and lightly over the top. Toss gently just before serving, or serve undressed and let folks dress their own plate.
6. Serve fresh. This salad is best served the day it’s made. If you’re bringing it to a cookout, keep the dressing separate and toss on-site so the greens stay crisp in the heat.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 130 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 15g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 190mg