Babs' Potato Salad
The recipe that belongs to someone, and always will.
Bab’s Potato Salad
Her name was Barbara Ann. But nobody called her that — not her sisters, not her husband, not her children, not the grandchildren who came later. To everyone who loved her, she was Babs. Just Babs. And if you knew her, you already know exactly what kind of woman could earn a nickname like that and wear it for a lifetime.
She had opinions. Strong ones. About most things, but about food in particular, and about this potato salad most of all.
Eastern potatoes. Small dice. Raw red onion. Red wine vinegar. Celery for crunch. Mayonnaise loosened just enough to coat. Salt and pepper.
Nothing else. Never anything else.
Don’t tell her about the capers. Don’t mention the celery seed. Don’t come near her kitchen with smoked paprika or Dijon mustard or any of the additions food bloggers use to make someone else’s recipe their own. She would have had something to say about that, and she would not have said it quietly.
She made this potato salad at every family event for her entire adult life. Fourth of July. Labor Day. Birthday parties. Sunday dinners when enough people were around to justify a big bowl. It was always there, always the same, always exactly right.
When she died, we put a bowl of it on the table at her repast.
She would have had something to say about that too, probably. But I think — I hope — she would have understood. Because some people are so thoroughly themselves, so completely present in the things they make and the way they make them, that when they’re gone the only thing you can think to do is set a place for them anyway.
The bowl was her presence at a table she couldn’t sit at anymore. It was the right thing. It was the only thing.
I’ve tried to improve this recipe exactly once. I added something — I don’t even remember what now — and it was wrong immediately. Not bad, exactly. Just wrong. It wasn’t Babs’ potato salad anymore. It was mine, and mine wasn’t what anyone wanted.
So I stopped trying to improve it. Some recipes aren’t yours to improve. They belong to someone else and your only job is to make them right and not mess with them and pass them along.
This is me passing it along.
Babs’ Potato Salad
As she made it. As it always was. As it will always be.
The potatoes: Eastern potatoes — the waxy kind that hold their shape. Peeled, boiled whole until just tender, cooled completely, then cut into a medium dice. Not tiny. Not chunky. Hers.
The celery: Diced a little smaller than the potato. For crunch and freshness. Don’t skip it.
The onion: Raw red onion, diced, generous, unapologetic. Yes, you’ll taste it the next day. It’s worth it every time.
The dressing: Mayonnaise — real mayonnaise, not the light version, not the olive oil version — loosened with red wine vinegar until it coats rather than globs. Salt and pepper. That’s it. That is the whole list.
The ratio: For five pounds of potatoes, you know when it looks right. It should be dressed, not drowned. Start with less dressing than you think you need and add from there.
The rule: Make it the day before if you can. It gets better overnight. Babs’ knew this.