What Chicken Salad Helped Me Understand About My Mixed Heritage

This beloved Southern dish contains a multitude of cultures.

If there’s a single regret my parents have about raising me and my brother (other than the sass I apparently never outgrew), it’s that they didn’t teach us their native languages. My mom, who immigrated from Malaysia in the early ’80s, speaks Chinese. My dad, who moved from Iran a few years before, speaks Farsi. English was their common ground. When they made the move from Illinois to Alabama in time to start a family, it was a foregone conclusion. Other than the few memorized phrases we dusted off for long-distance phone calls with relatives, my brother and I spoke English exclusively. Years later, when we started applying to colleges, we joined our parents in lamenting that “trilingual” wouldn’t join our list of academic accomplishments.

While I’m not fluent, or even functional, in Mandarin or Farsi, my parents made sure I was proficient in another language. Like many first-generation Americans, food was—and still is—my strongest tether to culture. I grew up eating the cuisines of my parents’ home countries on most nights. Slippery stir-fried noodles and salty, soy-glazed short ribs from my mom. Herbaceous beef stew, nutty lentil rice, and smoky eggplant dip from my dad. Hamburger Helper and Kraft Macaroni & Cheese were rare delicacies.

One of the first dishes my mom learned after moving South was chicken salad. She had begun swapping recipes with two other moms who lived in our apartment building. One, who immigrated from South Korea, shared dak kalguksu (Korean chicken and zucchini noodle soup). The other, who had roots in Kentucky, introduced her to chicken salad, plus a fruitcake starter that likely still lurks in the depths of my mom’s freezer. Twenty-five years later, the friendships and recipes live on.

Part of what makes chicken salad so beloved is its adaptability. Scour your pantry and throw whatever’s on hand—pecans, chopped apples, dried cranberries, herbs, poppy seeds—into the mix. My mom’s recipe calls for the addition of curry powder. To this day, hers is the only version my mayonnaise-averse 10th-generation Southern husband is excited to eat.

In the South, chicken salad is synonymous with bridal and baby showers, church potlucks, and family picnics. If there are more than eight people around, you can bet chicken salad will make an appearance. In Iran, the same is true for a dish called Salad Olivieh. Though it has roots in Russia, Salad Olivieh is a Southern salad in every sense. Imagine a mashup of chicken, potato, and egg salads and you have Salad Olivieh.

And just like Southerners comparing pound cakes at a potluck, there’s always whispering about whose version is best.

In Iran, Salad Olivieh is the unofficial dish of Sizdah Bedar, the final day of the Persian New Year (Nowruz) celebration that begins on the first day of spring and lasts for two weeks. Also known as Nature’s Day, it’s bad luck to stay indoors on Sizdah Bedar, so everyone heads to a park for an all-day picnic with family and friends. Salad Olivieh is always there in abundance. And just like Southerners comparing pound cakes at a potluck, there’s always whispering about whose version is best. I’ll go to the grave naming my dad’s the far and away winner. It’s smooth and creamy with a nice bite from bright green peas.

Growing up, my parents loved to remind me and my brother that we’re 50% Chinese, 50% Iranian, and 100% American. Sometimes it worked. Other times it was decidedly hard to be a mixed-race kid growing up in the Deep South. During those times, I remember thinking the phrase was cheesy and that my parents must not have been so great at math.

I see now that they were doing the best with what they had—drawing parallels where they could and putting things in a perspective that might make us feel whole. Chicken salad was one of those surprising connection points. Its quiet ability to transcend cuisine and culture spoke volumes, affirming that I didn’t have to be fluent in three languages to belong. Because if something as simple as chicken and mayonnaise could be many things at once, then maybe I could too.

Curry Chicken Salad

Since no gathering of Southern women is complete without chicken salad, my mom served this dish to my bridesmaids on my wedding day. (We also had Sonic hotdogs, but that’s neither here nor there.) Worrying that not everyone would welcome her twist on the classic salad, she supplemented with a store-bought tub. Hers was the unanimous favorite. For someone who vividly remembers fretting over what foreign dish her parents might serve on sleepover nights, the sight of her empty Tupperware moved me to tears.

Get the Recipe: Curry Chicken Salad

Persian Salad Olivieh

I wasn’t overly interested in cooking growing up, but I always jumped at the opportunity to help prepare Salad Olivieh. My dad would boil the potatoes, chicken, and eggs, then lay out a vinyl tablecloth on the floor of our living room. If it was a warmer spring, he’d open the windows letting a breeze in as we sat cross-legged, peeling potatoes and shredding chicken breast with our bare hands.

My favorite part came at the end when I had the honor of smoothing the salad into a casserole dish and then putting on my artist’s cap. Not a naturally colorful dish, Salad Olivieh gets a boost with garnishes of bright green peas and fuchsia radishes and their dark green leaves. It’s customary to decorate the dish in accordance with the spring theme. For me, that meant arranging veggies into the shape of flowers and waiting for my dad’s generous oohs and ahhs.

Get the Recipe: Persian Salad Olivieh

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