Cucumber sandwiches are one of the indelible memories of my childhood visits to Chatham. My grandmother served them with warm milky tea after sailboat races in Stage Harbor. These were old-school open-face sandwiches on buttered white bread. I didn’t care much for the races, but I loved to help my grandmother feed the young, sunburned crews as they came in off the water. Cucumber sandwiches remind me of fisherman sweaters and the brisk wind off Nantucket Sound.
I still love those simple sandwiches, but I’ve expanded my cucumber cannon since those days. Cucumber salads are beach-picnic friendly and complement the summer grilled food repertoire — their crunchy, cooling quality is right alongside steak, lamb, chicken, or fish. These salads aren’t picky about dressings, either. Sometimes I dress them with sour cream, yogurt, or buttermilk versions. But they’re good with nothing more than salt, olive oil, and vinegar and even better paired with the parsley, mint, dill, fennel, and basil in my garden.
For 11 months of the year, cucumbers are ho-hum: predictable, uniform, wax- or plastic-wrapped water-delivery systems. But come August when local farmers bring baskets of curlicue cukes, golden lemon ones, or iconic slicers and bumpy pickling Kirbys, they earn their “cool as a cucumber” moniker.
If to peel or not to peel is your question, I can say this: my preference is skin on, and that’s one of the reasons I like Kirbys and Persian varieties. The wax on the perennial industrial cucumbers is there to keep them from molding; it’s edible, but it skeeves me out, so I always peel those. Generally, homegrown and farmers-market cukes don’t get a wax coating, so there’s no need to peel them, but taste a slice to see if the skin is tough or bitter. When latent bitterness concentrates in the skins, I peel. I also always trim about three quarters of an inch off the blossom end for the same reason.
As a kid, I didn’t know what people meant when they turned down a cucumber sandwich saying, “Cucumbers repeat on me.” Now I know it’s an old-time way of saying, “They make me burp.” If you are in this club, look for seedless or “burpless” varieties — a standard is the long English variety. With others, trim out the seeds.
One of my favorite things to combine with cucumbers is a “visitor” to my garden: purslane. Most folks consider purslane a pesky weed, but it’s edible and delicious. I am new to gardening (and lazy), and as a city gal I am still amazed that I can grow anything. The first summer I saw purslane all over my garden (and driveway) I was thrilled. I love its bright lemony taste and its succulent, chubby leaves. It doesn’t wilt like lettuce does, so is great to add to make-ahead salads and relishes. It’s also perfect for stir-fries, solo or mixed with other cooking greens. And it’s rich in vitamins, minerals, antioxidants, and omega-3 fatty acids.
Purslane is used in two of my favorite cuisines — Mexican and Turkish. In Mexico, verdolagas is braised with pork and green or red salsa. In the Eastern Mediterranean, purslane salads are often part of a selection of small mezze dishes like hummus, baba ghanoush, olives, and cheese. My recipe is open to variations: sliced radishes, grilled corn, or chickpeas would all be good. And adding toasted pita chips like you would with a fattoush would be delicious.
Local cucumbers and purslane are great in the dog days of summer, but when the wind howls and the rains come, I put on the kettle for a cup of sweet milky tea to sip alongside a buttery cucumber sandwich. The old and new are just a slice away.
CUCUMBER AND PURSLANE SALAD
1 small clove garlic
2 scallions, white and green separated and sliced thin
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
Juice of ½ large lemon, plus more to taste
Pinch cayenne or other chili powder
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more to taste
¾ lb. unwaxed cucumbers
2 cups purslane leaves, rinsed
½ cup flat parsley leaves, chopped
1/3 cup fresh mint leaves, chopped
1 large tomato, seeded and diced
1 to 2 oz. feta cheese, crumbled
Oil-cured olives and pita bread for serving
- Smash the garlic and combine it with a pinch of salt. Make a paste by rubbing the salt and garlic together with the flat broad side of a cook’s knife. This is a gentle back and forth that mimics what a mortar and pestle can do. If you have one of those, use it instead.
- Combine the lemon juice with the garlic in a large bowl. Whisk in the olive oil. Add the scallion whites.
- If the cucumbers have tough or bitter skins, peel them. Quarter the cucumbers lengthwise and trim out the seeds, then cut the quarters into half-inch chunks and add them to the bowl.
- Halve the tomatoes crosswise and pop out the seeds (I like to strain out the juice and sip it). This keeps the salad from getting soggy. Dice the tomatoes and season with salt and pepper, then add them to the salad. If serving right away, toss to combine evenly. If you’re preparing the salad ahead, just put the tomatoes on top of everything else and toss just before serving. Season with more lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste, then top with crumbled feta. Serve with olives and pita bread.
