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We bought a house a couple of months ago. It’s in the same neighborhood where we’ve been renting, full of families and sweet cats and friendly dogs. It was all very serendipitous; a year ago we met a random neighbor on an evening walk and she mentioned a group of siblings down the street was hoping to sell their deceased mother’s house. (We’ve never seen that neighbor since—as far as we know she could have been a friendly ghost who came to us in our time of need.) Jonji used his powers of friendly-extroversion and introduced our family to the siblings, and over the next year we occasionally emailed or stopped by to check in. We switched between hope and despair frequently, hope finally winning out when they accepted our timeline for an offer this past Spring.

And now we’re here, in a house that’s ours, for better and for worse—mostly for the better, fortunately. It was built in the 1920s, when life looked a lot different; larger lots, less cars, wood and plaster houses, fireplaces for heat. Our house retains the charm of that era—carefully crafted wood floors, a welcoming plaster-textured hearth, large single-paned picture window to see the front yard, an age-darkened terracotta roof, a cedar-lined closet to keep the moths out—but was tastefully updated about 20 years ago. My new kitchen boasts a large center island with a short side I never knew I needed, tons of cabinet space for containing all my dishes, bakeware, and pantry items (when I packed it all up I realized that I am truly prepared for the apocalypse), and large French windows that overlook the terracotta-tiled porch and the large apricot tree in the backyard. Lorna, the woman who lived here before us, was a volunteer botanist at the UCSC Arboretum, and her gardening choices reflect that: proteas interspersed with unique citrus trees, the kitchen windows framed by small pear and apple trees, and two lovely manzanitas in the front yard, peeling burgundy bark exposing smooth limbs. Lorna clearly loved the property and took excellent care of it.

It goes without saying that the last couple of months have been exciting and challenging. The week we packed up and moved Jonji worked all but one day; fortunately both of our families pulled through and helped me with entertaining the kids and boxing up all of our worldly possessions. We got there in the end, using an assortment of trucks and trailers to move batches of boxes around the block. The trampoline had to be tipped over and hoisted around trees to get to its new corner home (Jonji wasn’t convinced it would fit, but I stubbornly insisted it would. I was right). Moving is the worst; it feels great to be on this side of it.

As always, when our lives are upended by big changes, I have to scale back my cooking and choose weekly menus that require less time and attention. Enter these potatoes. They’re cooked in very salty water (don’t be afraid, they will not be too salty), doused in olive oil, and scattered with crunchy quick-pickled onions and a shower of fresh dill. I love them, and I think you will too.

The original recipe for this dish is so incredible that I barely changed a thing. If you don’t have either of Molly Baz’s cookbooks, I suggest giving them a look through—I’ve loved every recipe I’ve tried.

Salty Potatoes with Olive Oil & Lots of Dill

Serves 6 / adapted from More is More by Molly Baz

2 lbs yellow potatoes (like Yukon Gold), about the size of golf balls
¾ cup Kosher salt (I use Diamond Crystal)

½ small red onion, slivered
the juice of 1 medium lemon
large pinch of salt

½ cup extra virgin olive oil
the juice of ½ large lemon
freshly cracked black pepper
1 bunch of dill, chopped
flaky sea salt, if needed

If your potatoes are larger than a golf ball, cut them in half or quarters so they’re all roughly that size. Place them in a large pot and cover with cold water. Stir in ¾ cup Kosher salt and bring to a boil over high heat. Boil for about 5-10 minutes, until easily pierced with a knife (you won’t be cooking them any more than this, so make sure they’re a consistency you’d like to eat). Drain the potatoes and let them cool until cool enough to touch with your hands.

While the potatoes cook, toss the slivered onion slices with the juice of 1 lemon and a large pinch of salt. Set aside and stir occasionally.

Using your hands, crush and crumble the warm potatoes into a serving dish. You want slightly larger than bite-sized pieces. Douse with ½ cup olive oil, then stir in the pickled onions, the juice from half a large lemon, plenty of freshly cracked black pepper, and all but one handful of chopped dill. Once it’s all mixed, taste and add flaky sea salt as needed, or more lemon juice and olive oil to taste. When it’s to your liking, top with the last handful of dill. Serve slightly warm or at room temperature. Enjoy!