New Year’s Day Luck: Black‑Eyed Pea Salad with Lemon‑Dijon Dressing

Lucky Black‑Eyed Pea Salad with Lemon‑Dijon Dressing

There’s something deliciously hopeful about January 1st. The world is quiet, the chickens are confused about why I’m up before them, and the kitchen feels like a blank page waiting for the first smudge of butter or sprinkle of salt. Around here, we honor the old Appalachian superstition that black‑eyed peas bring luck—and honestly, I’ll take all the luck I can get, especially after last year’s adventures in runaway sourdough and the big move to the new house.

Tradition says you’re supposed to eat black‑eyed peas for prosperity, greens for money, and cornbread for gold. But I like to think of it as eating a little edible spell: a bowlful of intention, nourishment and the kind of humble ingredients that have kept mountain folks going for generations.

This year, instead of the usual pot of peas simmered with ham hock or country ham,. The man who lives in this house with me is leaning more towards mindful nutrition. With that in mind, I wanted something brighter—something that tastes like cracking open a window in winter. So I made a Lucky Black‑Eyed Pea Salad with Lemon‑Dijon Dressing, and friends… it’s the kind of dish that makes you believe good things really are on the way.

Roasted Garlic Pork loin, braised cabbage and lucky blackeyed pea salad

🥗 Why This Salad Feels Like a Fresh Start

• It’s bright and tangy, like a pep talk from your favorite aunt.

• It’s cheap as dirt (in the best Appalachian way).

• It uses pantry staples you probably already have.

• It’s hearty enough to count as a meal but fresh enough to feel like you’re making good choices.

• It keeps well, which means tomorrow‑you will thank today‑you.

Plus, it’s the kind of recipe that doesn’t mind if you eyeball the measurements because you’ve misplaced the measuring spoons AGAIN!

🍋 The Lemon‑Dijon Dressing (aka Liquid Sunshine)

This dressing is simple but powerful—like a spell jar made of pantry ingredients. Lemon for brightness, Dijon for backbone, honey for sweetness, and olive oil to smooth it all together. It’s the kind of dressing that makes even the peas perk up.

🥣 Lucky Black‑Eyed Pea Salad

Ingredients:

• 2 cups cooked black‑eyed peas (canned works just fine) drained and rinsed. I chose to cook fresh and then drain and rinse.

• 1 cup diced cucumber

• 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved

• ½ red onion, finely chopped

• 1 bell pepper, any color

• A handful of chopped fresh herbs (parsley, cilantro, or whatever survived the frost)

• Optional: crumbled feta, chopped greens, or roasted corn (Corn is an added perk for abundance)

Lemon‑Dijon Dressing:

• 3 tbsp olive oil

• Juice of 1 lemon

• 1 tbsp Dijon mustard

• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

• 1/2 teaspoon onion powder

• salt and pepper to taste of course I used low sodium season salt

• 1 tsp honey

• Salt & pepper to taste

• A pinch of red pepper flakes for luck and attitude

Instructions:

1. I just put it all in a mason jar and tighten the lid and shake the magic into it. However you can whisk the dressing until it emulsifies into a glossy little potion.

2. Toss everything together in a big bowl.

3. Taste it. Add more lemon if you want more brightness, more honey if you want more sweetness, or more Dijon if you’re feeling bold.

4. Let it sit in fridge for at least 20 minutes so the flavors can get to know each other.

Serve it with cornbread if you want to double down on the prosperity spell.

🌿 A Little New Year’s Magic

As I stood at the counter, smelling the simmer pot I put on earlier in the day as I stirred this salad, I thought about how many generations before me made their own New Year’s dishes—simple food meant to carry hope into the months ahead. There’s something grounding about that. Something comforting. Something that reminds me that even in the chaos of new beginnings, sourdough starters, and half‑finished homestead projects, there’s always room for a fresh start.

So here’s to a year of abundance, cozy kitchens, warm bread, and tiny everyday miracles. Here’s to luck—served cold, bright, and lemony.

Happy New Year from Cozy Crumb Cottage. May your peas be lucky, your cornbread never crumble and this year only manifests all the best things for you and yours.