Tuesday Slice: Coleslaw

I know the answer before I ask, but ask it anyway.

"You don't eat coleslaw, right?"

"No," he says, and then proceeds to tell me all the different, other ways he will eat cabbage.  He knows he's not changing my mind by telling me.

Half a head, then.  The stemmed half gets bagged and refrigerated, and I turn back to the thin plastic chopping board.  There's something satisfying about slicing through the densely packed leaves, first one way, then the other.  A moment's hesitation trying to remember if there is onion in the recipe...I think there is, but I'm not in an onion mood tonight.

Kitchen memories of my mother and her mother surface as I finish chopping and transfer the last pale green bits to an old white, plastic bowl. The knife and board go into the sink.  I retrieve my favorite, red-handled spoonula.  My lack of spatial intelligence is evident once again, as the utensil refuses to fit in the mouth of the Hellman's mayonnaise jar.  A large soup spoon does the trick, and I add three big plops of that creamy goodness to the cabbage.  The spoonula does quick work of folding it all together.  I add one more spoonful of mayo for good measure.

Now the seasonings.  Salt, pepper, celery seed.  The scent of that last ingredient takes me back to those few summers I had with my grandparents in between my father's duty stations, the hot dogs-and-hamburgers cookouts my parents hosted for friends.

I add a bit more celery seed, for memory's sake.  The coleslaw is mine, all mine, and I don't mind a bit.