Simple Luncheon Salad — The Potato Salad That Will Always Be Mine

Labor Day. The porch. Elsa and Tom. Erik with his chair and thermos. Deviled eggs and potato salad and bratwurst. The menu of forever. Tom grilled the bratwurst this year — the first time someone besides me has operated the grill since Paul. He grilled them with the competence of a man who has cooked over campfires for years and who considers a propane grill a luxury. The brats were perfectly charred. Paul would have approved. Paul, the meat-smoker, the grill-master, would have said, "Not bad, Tom." Not bad is the Johansson male compliment. Elsa and Tom are serious. The kind of serious that shows in small things: the way she touches his arm when she's making a point, the way he listens when she talks about wolves, the way they exist in each other's space without crowding. They're a partnership. The kind of partnership that Paul and I had — two separate people who choose to walk beside each other. Erik ate bratwurst and drank coffee and watched the lake and said nothing, which is Erik's full contribution and which is exactly right. Erik at sixty-seven is greyer and quieter and more himself than ever. He's been alone his whole life — by choice, by temperament, by the Johansson male reserve that makes companionship unnecessary — and the aloneness suits him. He has his woodworking. His tools. His Thursdays at Mamma's. His Saturdays at my kitchen table. His routine. Mamma called from Fifth Street — she didn't come (the trip is harder now, at ninety, the getting-into-the-car a production) but she called and I put her on speakerphone and she said, "Is the potato salad good?" and Tom said, "Best I've ever had," and Mamma said, "It's my daughter's recipe," and I said, "It's my recipe, Mamma," and she said, "I taught you," and the argument about who owns the potato salad is the argument that never ends and that I love. I made the potato salad. I made the deviled eggs. I made the blueberry pie. Tom grilled. Elsa set the table. Erik sat. Labor Day. The last summer holiday. The pivot toward fall. The pivot is gentle this year. Not the terrifying pivot of 2020. Not the grinding pivot of 2019. A gentle turn. The way you turn a corner in a familiar house — you know what's around it. You turn anyway. The turning is the walking.

The potato salad argument with Mamma will never be resolved, and I have made my peace with that—it is one of the best arguments I own. What I can tell you is that the salad on that table every Labor Day is simple on purpose: simple enough to let the brats and the blueberry pie and the conversation do their work without competition. This Simple Luncheon Salad is the version I come back to, the one that travels well to the porch, holds up in the afternoon heat, and earns the kind of quiet approval that is the highest compliment at a Johansson table.

Simple Luncheon Salad

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

Ingredients

• 6 cups chopped romaine lettuce
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
• 1/2 cup thinly sliced cucumber
• 1/4 cup thinly sliced red onion
• 1/2 cup shredded carrots
• 1/4 cup sliced black olives
• 1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese
• 1/4 cup croutons
• 3 tablespoons Italian or ranch dressing, or to taste
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Instructions

1. Prep the greens. Wash and thoroughly dry the romaine lettuce, then chop into bite-sized pieces and place in a large salad bowl.
2. Add the vegetables. Layer in the cherry tomatoes, cucumber, red onion, shredded carrots, and black olives over the lettuce.
3. Add the cheese and croutons. Scatter the shredded cheddar and croutons evenly over the top.
4. Dress and toss. Drizzle the dressing over the salad just before serving. Season with salt and pepper, then toss gently to combine, or serve undressed and let guests add their own.
5. Serve immediately. Transfer to a serving platter or bring the bowl straight to the table. Best eaten fresh.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 110 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 9g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 220mg