Greek Broccoli Salad

The bakery is approaching its second anniversary in March, and I am thinking about what two years means. Two years of 3 AM mornings. Two years of flour in my hair and dough under my nails and the oven heat that has permanently tanned my forearms to a shade darker than the rest of me. Two years of Panadería Rosa, which is two years of Rosa's name on a door, which is two years of keeping a promise, which is a good start but not enough because the promise was forever and two years is not forever, and I have a long way to go.

Business is picking up as February ends and March approaches. Spring in El Paso means graduations and first communions and quinceañeras and all the celebrations that require bread, and bread is what we do, and doing what you do is the simplest form of success. I have three catering inquiries this week — two baptisms and a quinceañera — and Sofia is handling the quotes because Sofia handles everything now and I am learning to let her, which is the hardest lesson I have learned since Rosa died. Letting go. Letting someone else's hands do what your hands have always done. It feels like falling. But Sofia catches me.

Luis Jr. is talking about the Army again. More specifically now — not "the Army" in the abstract but "Fort Bliss" in the specific. He has been researching it on his phone, talking to recruiters at school, doing math on military pay and benefits with the same intensity Isabella brings to nursing programs. He told me at dinner that if he enlists at eighteen, he can be stationed at Fort Bliss, which is in El Paso, which is twenty minutes from home. He said this last part looking at me, not Luis, because he knows I am the one who needs to hear it. Twenty minutes from home. He is offering me geography as a compromise for fear, and I accept because geography is the best I will get and twenty minutes is close enough to bring tamales.

I made nopales this week — cactus paddles, cleaned and diced and cooked with tomato and onion and jalapeño and cilantro. Nopales are desert food. They grow everywhere in El Paso and Juárez, the prickly pear cactus that lines every road and fence and empty lot, and the food they provide is humble and nutritious and free if you know where to look. Rosa cooked nopales because they were free and because free food is not charity when it grows in your own yard. I cook nopales because they taste like where I'm from — not a city but a landscape, not a house but a climate, not a recipe but a geography.

Camila has a new friend at pre-K — a girl named Sophia (different spelling from our Sofia, which Camila finds hilarious and confusing). They are inseparable. They play together, eat together, and have apparently formed an alliance against the boys in their class, which Camila described to me as "me and Sophia are in charge and the boys have to listen." She is four. She is already leading. I wonder where she gets it and then I look in the mirror and I stop wondering.

The nopales I made this week reminded me of something Rosa used to say: the best food does not ask much of you, but it gives back everything. I was thinking about that — about humble ingredients, about food that nourishes without fuss — when I pulled together this Greek Broccoli Salad later in the week. It is not desert food, and it is not her recipe, but it carries the same quiet logic: crisp vegetables, honest seasoning, nothing wasted. On a week when I was already holding a lot, something this straightforward felt exactly right.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

5 cups fresh broccoli florets, chopped small
1/2 cup pitted Kalamata olives, halved
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
1/3 cup red onion, thinly sliced
1/2 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/4 cup pepperoncini peppers, sliced
1/4 cup roasted sunflower seeds or slivered almonds
Dressing:
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Prep the broccoli. Chop broccoli into small, bite-sized florets and place in a large mixing bowl. Smaller pieces help the dressing coat every bite evenly.
Add the vegetables. Add the red onion, cherry tomatoes, olives, and pepperoncini to the bowl with the broccoli.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, red wine vinegar, lemon juice, oregano, garlic powder, salt, and pepper until combined.
Dress the salad. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss well to coat everything evenly.
Add toppings. Sprinkle the crumbled feta and sunflower seeds (or almonds) over the top. Toss gently once more.
Rest and serve. Let the salad sit for at least 5 minutes before serving so the broccoli softens slightly and absorbs the dressing. It can also be made ahead and refrigerated for up to 24 hours — the flavor improves with time.

Nutrition (per serving)

Greek Broccoli Salad — The Humble, Nourishing Side That Tastes Like Staying Grounded