Mediterranean Orzo Salad

Mother Day. Three years of writing this blog and three Mother Days, and the feelings have not changed. They have calcified. They are permanent now, built into the architecture of the day: gratitude for the four children who call me Mom, grief for the sister whose children I am raising, love for Gayle who taught me what mothering looks like by doing it without complaint for fifty years.

The cards this year were more sophisticated. Amber wrote me a letter, handwritten, two pages, that said things I cannot repeat here because they are private and they are mine and some words belong only to the people they are written for. Tyler made a card with a drawing of the two of us in the kitchen, me stirring and him watching, and underneath he wrote best cook I know. Justin card said Happy Mother Day Mom, I love you, which is four more words than last year and I am counting because with Justin, every word matters. Josie made a card shaped like a heart with glitter that got everywhere and which I will be finding in my truck cab for months.

Dave brought coffee and a chocolate bar. The ritual holds. I called Gayle. She answered on the first ring. We talked about nothing and everything. She mentioned Darla. I held the phone and breathed. The conversation lasted twelve minutes. Twelve minutes of two Novak women holding the same grief across a phone line, saying it is fine, meaning it is not.

For dinner I made lemon herb chicken with roasted vegetables, lighter this year because May is warm and I wanted something that felt like the season. The chicken was bright. The vegetables were crisp. The cake was chocolate, because the cake is always chocolate, and the cake will always be chocolate, and when I am ninety and can barely lift a fork I will still be making this cake on Mother Day because that is how traditions work: they outlast the people who started them, and someday someone will make this cake for my memory the way I make it for Darla.

After dinner, Amber and I did the dishes together. Side by side. No talking. Just the sound of water and plates and the quiet breathing of two people who love each other and do not need to say so. The dishes are our language. The kitchen is our country. We live here, Amber and I, in the space between the sink and the stove, and it is enough.

I wanted something that tasted like the season — light and bright and alive in a way that heavy winter food never quite is — and this Mediterranean orzo salad is exactly that. The lemon and herbs carry the same energy the evening had: not heavy, not complicated, just clean and good and present. It is the kind of dish you can make while your daughter sets the table and your youngest asks for the hundredth time when dinner will be ready, and it comes together without demanding too much of you, which on a day that already demands everything feels like a small mercy.

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 cup cucumber, diced
1/2 cup kalamata olives, pitted and halved
1/2 cup red onion, finely diced
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 large lemon)
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Instructions

Cook the orzo. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the orzo and cook according to package directions until al dente, about 8–9 minutes. Drain and rinse under cold water to stop cooking. Spread on a sheet pan to cool completely.
Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, lemon juice, lemon zest, dried oregano, garlic powder, salt, and pepper until combined.
Combine the salad. In a large bowl, add the cooled orzo, cherry tomatoes, cucumber, olives, red onion, parsley, and basil. Pour the dressing over the top and toss well to coat everything evenly.
Add the feta. Gently fold in the crumbled feta so it stays in distinct pieces rather than breaking down into the salad.
Taste and adjust. Taste for seasoning and add more lemon juice, salt, or pepper as needed. The salad brightens as it sits, so don’t be shy with the lemon.
Serve or chill. Serve immediately at room temperature, or refrigerate for up to 30 minutes before serving. This salad holds well and can be made a few hours ahead; stir before serving and add a fresh squeeze of lemon if needed.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mediterranean Orzo Salad — The Bright, Herby Dish That Felt Like May