I Tried Martha Stewart’s Coleslaw — and I Ate It with My Hands Like a Feral Cat

the mayo was almost bad. I used it anyway.
there was a humming in the fridge that reminded me of late summer—when the air is too thick and the sun has no edge.
I wasn’t planning to cook. wasn’t planning to remember anything either. but the carrots were soft and the cabbage had that bend to it, like it knew it was on borrowed time.
Her Highness’s coleslaw floated back to me like an old voicemail. crisp and tidy. vinegar and mustard. structure in a bowl.

What the Original Looked Like

martha’s version doesn’t shout.
just cabbage, carrots, mayo—some vinegar and a flick of dijon to make it grown-up.
she keeps it cold. sharp. a side dish that knows its place.
mine never stayed in the bowl long enough to chill.
I remember the magazine it came from—creased on the mustard page, a smudge of something oily near the corner. I think it was potato salad day.
or maybe that was the year the fridge died and we ate everything in 24 hours.

What I Did Differently

I didn’t have dijon. used horseradish and a little honey. didn’t tell mae. she didn’t notice.
the cabbage was more red than green. it stained the carrots, made everything look like it had a secret.
I didn’t measure. the mayo was less than she asked for. probably more vinegar than she’d approve of. I don’t know. I didn’t taste it until later.

The Way It Happened in My Kitchen

I shredded the cabbage straight into the old Pyrex. the green one. still has the chip on the lip from when Mae dropped it full of strawberries.
carrots were limp but bright.
the horseradish made me cough.
I stirred like it was a ritual.
the kind of movement you do when you don’t want to think. like folding towels.
like packing boxes after someone leaves.
the Dutch oven sat behind me. didn’t need it. still tapped it with the spoon out of habit. dent and all.
I didn’t salt it. not at first.
let it sit.
left it on the counter too long.

A Few Things I Learned

you don’t need the dijon. not if you’ve got something with bite.
red cabbage stains everything, but maybe that’s the point.
letting it sit changes the flavor and the mood.
sometimes cold food fills you better than hot.
the spoon matters less than the stirring.

What I Did With the Extras

I didn’t put it in a container.
ate it standing up. fingers. not a fork.
the dog watched me like I’d gone feral. maybe I had.
it was cold by then. tasted sharper. like something from another decade.
I kept going back for more.
there’s still purple streaks on the tea towel. shaped like Maine.

Would I Make It Again?

if the fridge hums like that again—probably.

That’s As Much As I Remember

I meant to make something warm.
but cold worked that day.
sometimes it does.

If you need something warmer, I did a leek thing last December that hit harder.

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• Martha Stewart Potato Salad​
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