Tater Salad

I grew up calling it “tater salad,” much like I grew up calling those red, vine-ripened sensations of summer, “maters.” What can I say? I’m a bona fide product of the South, and though I know proper English and the correct pronunciations of words, I lean into my Southern dialect.

In case you haven’t guessed, this column is a love letter to potato salad—a dish I have devoured with gusto for my entire life. Growing up in Georgia, potato salad was as constant on our dinner table as sweet tea was on our kitchen counter and ceiling fans twirling on high in July and August. Potato salad showed up at every church potluck meal, every family reunion, every Sunday supper—and it never once let me down. Not once!

One of the beautiful things about potato salad is that it knows its place. It knows it’s not the main character. It’s fine being the best supporting actor in meals, sidling up alongside a thick slice of ham, a sizzling steak, a piece of goldenbrown fried, crispy chicken, a hot dog, or a hamburger. It never tries to steal the show. It’s just there— cool and creamy and exactly right.

I make mine the way my mama always has—the way her mama did—because why would I tinker with something that’s already pretty much perfect? Our recipe combines the flavors of boiled potatoes, chopped boiled eggs, sweet pickle cubes, bell pepper (or celery), and a chopped Vidalia onion—all folded together with mayo and seasoned with generous shakes of garlic salt and McCormick’s black pepper (the kind that comes in the red and white metal tins). That’s it. Simple as a Sunday morning.

In our family, the only variation came from the mayo. My daddy, Herman Lanier, was a Miracle Whip man, so that’s usually what Mom plopped in our tater salad, while some of my aunts on my mom’s side used Hellmann’s. I like it both ways, but I prefer the tang of Miracle Whip since that taste takes me back to my childhood.

Mama has mentioned more than once that my father’s sister, who lived in Garden City, used to add shrimp to hers. “Your Aunt Nell used to put shrimp in her potato salad,” she’s told me several times, with the kind of reverence you reserve for a person who really knew what they were doing. Every now and then, Mom will add shrimp herself, and since we are a people who dearly love shrimp, it is always a welcome surprise.

Now, I know some folks swear by a good spoonful of mustard stirred in, and I have absolutely no problem with that, because mustard is by far my most favorite condiment. I’ll even confess to adding a little splash of vinegar here and there myself.

But here’s where the story gets interesting. A few years ago, when I was working in Dalton, Georgia— the carpet capital of the world, if you didn’t know—I met a friend at a restaurant called The Oakwood. It’s a fine little meat-and-three kind of place, the sort of place you can get in and out of during your lunch hour, while running into friends and acquaintances you haven’t seen in a blue moon. That afternoon, I ordered their potato salad, and when that plate came out, I spotted something I was not expecting: olives. Green olive rings in my potato salad! I will admit my enthusiasm dimmed for a moment. But I picked up my fork, took an adventurous bite and, good God almighty, it was delicious! Surprisingly, wonderfully delicious!

However, I have to draw one firm line in the sand, and I draw it with the addition of sugar. Adding sugar is a sin and does not belong in discussions of potato salad. I’m sorry. I won’t budge on this one.

One last thing I love about a good potato salad—you can stir it together the night before your company comes over, put it in a Tupperware, and forget about it. To me, it actually tastes better when it sits awhile, allowing the ingredients to get properly acquainted.

And if there’s any left over the following morning? Well, I’ve been known to gobble up leftover tater salad for breakfast. It’s filling, it’s satisfying, and honestly, it gets the day off to a fine start. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.

From the Porch

By Amber Nagle