Lemony Orzo Pasta Salad

Fourth of July. My second one after Mama. Last year I grilled ribs and watched fireworks and Curtis ate four. This year I grilled ribs (with the coffee-ground rub, now confirmed as the superior version) and watched fireworks and Curtis ate five and the grief was there but smaller, manageable, the size of a firecracker instead of a firework. The boom is softer. The light is still there but it doesn't blind. That's what the second year of grief is: the same explosions, muted. Still present. Still real. But you can watch them without looking away.

Derek called at 10 PM, after both sets of kids were asleep, and we watched different fireworks shows on the phone together — his from his apartment balcony in Sandy Springs, mine from the townhouse backyard. We held the phone up to the sky like two teenagers and laughed at the absurdity and the romance of watching fireworks through a cell phone speaker. He said, "Next year, same sky." I said, "Same sky." It was a promise. A small one. The size of a firecracker. But real.

Curtis brought his tomatoes again — five this time, big and red and beautiful. From the garden that was Mama's and is now his. He put them on my counter next to the Folgers can and said, "Good year." He meant the tomatoes. He meant everything. Two words. A season of growth condensed into a syllable. I sliced them for dinner: thick, with salt, with basil from a pot on my windowsill that I'm growing because Mama never grew basil and I do, and the basil is mine the way the tomatoes are his and together, on a plate, they are the family's. We are a family of separate gardens, growing different things, sharing the harvest.

Made a big summer salad for the holiday: grilled chicken, avocado, corn, black beans, cherry tomatoes (Curtis's), cilantro-lime dressing. It was everything summer should taste like: fresh, bright, alive. Marcus ate it without complaint, which is the highest praise a thirteen-year-old boy can give a salad. Jasmine ate the avocado off the top and left the rest, because she is selectively enthusiastic about salad components and I respect her specificity.

That big summer salad I threw together for the Fourth — grilled chicken, avocado, corn, Curtis’s tomatoes — it got me thinking about what makes a summer dish actually feel like summer. It’s the brightness. The acid. The thing that wakes your mouth up the way the season wakes you up after a long, heavy year. This lemony orzo pasta salad is what I keep coming back to when I want that feeling on a plate: fresh and alive, the way the evening felt when Derek and I held our phones up to different skies and watched the same fireworks. It scales easy for a crowd, it holds up in the heat, and Curtis’s cherry tomatoes folded right in like they were always meant to be there.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups dry orzo pasta
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1 English cucumber, diced (about 1 1/2 cups)
1/3 cup red onion, finely diced
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
1/4 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons fresh basil, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 2 lemons)
1 teaspoon lemon zest
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

Cook the orzo. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook orzo according to package directions until just al dente, about 8–9 minutes. Drain and rinse under cold water to stop cooking. Spread on a sheet pan or large plate to cool completely, about 5 minutes.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the lemon juice, lemon zest, olive oil, Dijon mustard, garlic powder, salt, and pepper until emulsified. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Combine the salad. In a large mixing bowl, combine the cooled orzo, cherry tomatoes, cucumber, and red onion. Pour the dressing over the top and toss gently to coat everything evenly.
Add the finishing ingredients. Fold in the feta cheese, parsley, and basil. Stir gently so the feta doesn’t break down completely — you want some visible crumbles throughout.
Chill and serve. Serve immediately at room temperature, or refrigerate for up to 30 minutes for a colder salad. Taste once more before serving and add a pinch of salt or a squeeze of lemon if needed. The salad holds well covered in the refrigerator for up to 2 days; re-toss before serving and add a fresh squeeze of lemon to brighten it back up.

Nutrition (per serving)

Lemony Orzo Pasta Salad — The Salad That Tasted Like Everything Summer Should Be