I was making potato salad for my family’s Mother’s Day get-together when the thought surfaced. Was there ever a time I didn’t know how to make potato salad? . . . Surely there must have been a first time. But I don’t remember one, let alone ever consulting a recipe. I suppose I watched my mother. A skeptical inner voice muttered, Well, come on, Sally, it’s hardly rocket science.   

This Mother’s Day, we had hamburgers and a fruit salad, along with the potato salad, a menu which could have been served on the Fourth of July, Memorial Day, or any Saturday or Sunday.  Any day of the week, any time you make things to serve the family or friends. The humble feast stuff. The photo above is from a family get-together several years ago on Cape Cod, at our old cottage in Craigville. In its bowl by the flowers, the potato salad awaits passing to my brother-in-law over on the right; I can see he hasn’t gotten his yet.  

So how do I make potato salad? Here’s my recipe. Please bear in mind that I never measure any of these quantities.  

2 lbs. red skin (or new white) potatoes, skins left on, cut as you like. 

¼ cup chopped celery 

½ cup chopped onion, preferably red (white is fine, too) 

¼ to ½ cup chopped parsley  

Mayo or sour cream or plain Greek yoghurt (or a mix of any of them), 

 ½  to 2/3  cup  

1/8 to ¼ cup cider vinegar 

1-2 T. mustard (I prefer Dijon) 

Salt and pepper to taste    

Once you’ve cooked and drained the potatoes, assemble them and the chopped veggies in a large bowl; combine the dressing ingredients, then pour them over the potato mixture, and stir up the whole business. Now taste. Need more mustard? Does it have enough bite? The flavors settle down somewhat with time and chilling, so I usually over-season a little.  

And there you have it. Potato salad. Old Reliable. My family always praises it, though I noticed this time that my ten-year-old grandson picked out all the onion and celery, after years of just shoveling in bite after bite. Perhaps a first sign of teen-it is, or is he just being a kid? Or perhaps I’d used sharp onions but not noticed because I love onions any old way. 

Everyone makes those popular dishes with My Way playing in the background. I remember a new neighbor gushing, “Oh, you’ve gotta taste my Mom’s macaroni salad, it’s the best!” This was the same neighbor whose husband routinely made batches of his marinara sauce and couldn’t be interrupted while the process was going on. Serious business. People make variations on “my” potato salad, some of which turn me off, especially those with hard boiled eggs, as I’ve always hated them. My mother always used only mayonnaise—I’m the one who introduced yoghurt and/or sour cream. Also, I remember potato salad primarily as a summer dish, half of a famous pair with cold sliced ham. Mommy always served it in a particular bowl, English earthenware, with high, slanted sides; its printed pattern of flowers looked as though they’d been needlepointed. But that was Boston and Cape Cod; in southern California where I live, summer is pretty much eternal. We serve whatever we want when we want to.    

And what about the other Old Reliables? The dishes we make over and over and cannot remember being taught or making with a recipe. Meat loaf, meat balls, and hamburger supper scrambles; cole slaw, also fruit salad or “fruit cup” as my mother called it, for dessert. Oh, and “clean out the veggie bin” soup, which I improvise every time. Old Reliables are served everywhere. Rice pilaf or grains with ginger root and veggies; curries, tagines, or fried rice. Okonomiyaki. A platter of deviled eggs and ham, or all the great salads: cole slaw, pasta, tabbouli, chicken, or tuna. All the dips: hummus or baba ghanouj or tzatziki or onion dip or guacamole. Tamales for Christmas Eve. All these things that many of us do almost without conscious thought, the delicious basic dishes we share. 

Do we absorb the know-how, the procedures, by osmosis? As, or because they go on around us? The way you sometime take in faith or religious practices and belief. I learned so much of both with my mother doing it beside me; she didn’t explain a lot or consciously teach, but just calmly took the steps of the process as I watched. 

Potato salad, and all the other dishes like it are the stuff of family communion. And like communion, with its elements of bread and wine (or juice), they present “the gifts of God for the people of God.” Basic things transformed into something sacred and wonderful. No sacrifice, though preparation and work are integral to both. 

Sometimes we cloak these meals in churchy ritual and serve the elements in silver chalices; sometimes they are as basic as meat loaf and baked potatoes. While we may not go to church and participate in the full ritual of Holy Communion, we sense it in raised glasses of wine, along with bread, around our tables. “Peace be with you” along with “Pass the potato salad.” People gather and share food, often as their mothers, and fathers, shared it with them. It’s within us to do so, like a muscle or tastebud memory, even a genetic imprint. 

Happy Mothers Day! May the great dishes be with you—enjoy!