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A Three-Salad Summer

One for Each Generation

By Rae Fairchild (MRB)Published 2 years ago 8 min read
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A Three-Salad Summer
Photo by Divazus Fabric Store on Unsplash

I longed for summer, dreamed of it the whole rest of the year, because the summer was free and fun. I escaped from school, and didn’t have to return for almost three months. I potted flowers with my mother and tended to the garden with my grandfather. My cousins and I spent the scorching summer days submerged in an enticingly cool backyard pool. In the evenings, we danced with sparklers and ignited small fireworks in my grandparent’s roadside mailbox, the little booms amplified and echoed by the steel. There were numerous rusted holes in the bottom of that mailbox from too many mini explosions. We compiled packing lists for our yearly camping trip and planned out menus for family gatherings.

The summer picnics and parties we hosted were most enjoyable. We held these jamborees on what seemed to be the hottest days of the year. My mother’s cousins would make the two-day drive up from Florida and bring my grandmother’s sister with them. My mother’s three sisters would come too, bringing their children. The kids would chase each other around with squirt guns and the family dogs played in the sprinkler’s mist. We popped open lawn chairs under large shady Cottonwood trees, spread beach towels in the long green grass, and laid red-linen tablecloths over wood picnic tables. Metal patio chairs baked in the sun, ready to sear the bottoms of anyone who dared sit upon them for too long. A cassette and radio crooned out grandpa’s favorite folk tunes, while he tapped his foot and whistled along with the melody.

These cookouts were a sight to behold. The aroma of sausages and burgers sizzling on the grill filled the air. Bags of chips, numerous dips, and cut veggie trays lined the perimeter of the food table. Condiments galore sat beside them: ketchup, mustard, barbeque sauce, pickles, onions, lettuce, and fresh tomatoes from the garden. Pitchers of cold water, fresh-squeezed lemonade, and refreshing fruit punch were nestled in coolers. A constant supply of ice was ferried from the kitchen freezer to them and to the communal ice bowl. But in a place of prominence of the feast, in the middle of the table, sat the three salads of summer. These were the pillars of any picnic, and one would not be complete without these culinary creations. Three unique salads, each made by a different hand, yet each hand was just like the next. For these three salads were made by three generations of women, grandmother to mother to daughter.

First was my handiwork, the granddaughter, a simple salad, easy enough that a child could put it together. I dreamed up this concoction many years ago when I was a young girl. My first attempts at making a signature dish of my own were not so successful. I had interesting and sometimes odd foods that I combined together. Then, I discovered it, a union of ingredients that created a visually stunning and delectable dessert: my “summer berry delight.”

An array of fresh summer berries combined to create an opera of fruity flavors. There were the blueberries, slightly tart and bright, in concert with the bold and rich blackberries. These complimented the sugary, juicy strawberries and the velvety soft raspberries. Banana slices lent sweet and creamy flavors to the performance. Then I broke apart crunchy chocolate chip cookies and sprinkled them over the berries. All of these were gently folded into thawed whipped topping. I would choose a clear bowl in which to display my dish. That way all the colorful berries, contrasted against the white whip, could be seen along the sides. I would then spread a thin layer of white topping over everything and create a design with extra berries. This dessert salad was delicious and filling, but light and refreshing enough to eat in even the hottest weather.

Second was my mother’s creation, the “rotini salad,” one of her many culinary pride and joys. She would spend all day in the kitchen preparing the multitude of components for this dish. There were carrots to peel and chop, bell peppers to seed and cut down, and big tomatoes to slice and dice. The sink was full of fresh summer vegetables ready to be processed. You would work for hours peeling, cutting, and chopping. Just when you thought your work was done, another vegetable would show itself, and you would need to keep going. I would often help my mother with the toil. She would sit at the kitchen table with her favorite trusty knife and I too had a little blade. My chops had to meet my mother’s approval: not too small, but not too big. She would say, “We do not want to hide these beautiful vegetables, but no body wants to bite into a huge hunk either.”

Orange carrots, bright red tomatoes, and bell peppers of all colors would be tossed together with perfectly boiled rainbow rotini noodles. They had to be done “al dente,” just right. No undercooking; people wanted to bite into crunchy vegetables, not hard pasta. No overcooking either; if they were too mushy, they would fall apart. Next, came the imitation crabmeat, a sweet, savory, and succulent addition. Last was the dressing, the most important piece of this salad. My mother previously used a bottled dressing from the store self, until it was taken off the market a long time ago. After that, she had to make her own. A saucepot of simple syrup was boiled on the stove, with a dash of vanilla extract added at the end. That was combined with high quality red wine vinegar when it cooled. And salt, you could not forget the salt. Her motto was, “Taste and adjust, taste and adjust.” This tangy, sharp, sweet vinaigrette was drizzled over the vegetables, crab, and noodles. The rotini salad was delicious right out of the mixing bowl, but the ingredients would marry overnight and create an absolutely marvelous taste. The crab and vegetables, especially the tomato, would lend their juices to the dressing, creating a symphony of sweet, savory, and acidic brightness. The noodles would soak up the extra liquid and become infused with flavor. Her rotini salad was so scrumptious that you would eat all the pieces and then drink the remaining fluid in the bowl. You did not want to waste the slightest bit.

Third was my grandmother’s offering, “Janice’s potato salad.” No one, and I repeat no one could make it like grandma did. It was truly a tale of “how the hand makes it special.” Even if one had her recipe and followed it to the letter, it would not turn out the same. No matter how many times one tried, and my mother and I attempted numerous times over the years, it was still not quite right. My grandma’s potato salad was a labor of love and often one of her daughters had to help her with all the work. Any other potato salad that we tried, be it from another’s kitchen or store bought, would be measured against grandma’s marvelous masterpiece. None would ever come close.

Red potatoes were boiled, cut in uniform pieces, and salted liberally. It had to be red potatoes, since grandpa hated all other types of tubers and could tell if a foreign one was being used in a dish. That, and red potatoes were sturdy, able to stand up to the cooking, cutting, and mixing required to construct this tour de force. Celery and onion were chopped fine and many hardboiled eggs were added to the largest mixing bowl I have ever seen. It was so big that you could wash a baby in it. In fact, it had to be taken in the utility room to be cleaned, as it did not fit in the kitchen sink. After all the ingredients were added to the giant vessel, grandma would gently spoon the homemade dressing over everything. This was the secret of her success and the very thing that none other could duplicate exactly. It was made with jarred salad dressing, apple cider vinegar, sugar, and celery seed. Most importantly, it was made with love and the magic of grandma’s hands. It was sweet, but with just enough bite for it to not be too sweet. It was bright, tangy, and the celery seed would give a little pop of zing when you bit into them. That “slurry” as she used to call it, was so delectable that it could be licked straight off the spoon. The end product had to sit overnight, and it would be re-tasted in the morning to ensure the moisture content was correct. More dressing or potatoes would be added to bring the creation up to her specifications. This salad was a classic, timeless, quintessential summer fare that only grandma could truly make.

Those summers are now yesteryears and many things have changed since then. My great aunt and grandparents have passed away. Our relatives no longer come up to visit from the sunshine state. My cousins and I do not hang out poolside or run around the yard with squirt guns. We don’t host such large parties and picnics anymore. However, when we do get together, we still make those three salads like we once did. They still grace the table in a place of prominence. My aunt, the daughter that used to help my grandma make the potato salad, is now charged with re-creating her dish. It is close, but not a replica. One bite, a single taste of these three salads, and I am taken back in time. I recall my wonderful childhood: carefree, fun, and filled with laughter. I remember the good times: the picnics, the parties, and the people now here in spirit. I smile and reminisce about those three salad summers.

cuisine
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About the Creator

Rae Fairchild (MRB)

I love to write; putting pen to paper fills my heart and calms my soul!

Rae Fairchild is my pen name. (Because why not? Pseudonyms are cool!)

I do publish elsewhere under my real name, Mary Rae Butler. (Fairchild, an old family surname.)

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  • Rulam Dayabout a year ago

    Takes me back to summer days😎well crafted story.

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