CITRUS AVOCADO SALAD WITH BLACK PEPPER ALMONDS.

It’s been another week of firsts: I hosted my first seder and dinner party in the new home, and I took my first hike in the jaw-droopingly beautiful Red Rock Canyon Park, a mere ten minute drive from my front door. All this newness—not just the meals and the hikes, but the new geography, new routines, new grocery stores, new commutes—it’s all at once invigorating and exhausting. I arrive at the end of each day completely spent. I sleep deeply and wake up in a half haze, mind still sloshing around in dreamworld.

As discombobulated as my days may feel, cooking for friends will always reorient me. Our Passover seder was deeply nourishing, filled with sweet conversation and delicious, mostly vegan food (it was the easiest way to accommodate everyone’s dietary preferences and allergies). I made Sherrie Castellano’s Spring Allium Soup, this vibrant citrus avocado salad, and a hearty main of fennel, coriander, and cumin-roasted carrots topped with black lentils and a riot of fresh herbs, sheep’s milk feta and labneh optional. Wendy and Keith brought wine and an alabaster tea-light holder from Egypt (very on-brand for Passover), and Lindsay and Daniel arrived with a tray full of luscious vegan donuts (decidedly not K for P, but we were all just fine with that).

Moreover, it was the boys’ first Passover. There was a sweet novelty in sharing this tradition that us Jewesses grew up immersed in with a deeply curious audience. Their willing openness to learn brought the Haggadah to life—or at least illuminated the nuances of the very New Wave Haggadah we were using, highly curated and pared down by my brilliant friend Gabby. Everyone put in a special request for this salad recipe, and here we are.

This salad combines my winter favorites: avocado and the bounty of California citrus I learned to love since arriving here—sweet-fleshed, salmon-colored cara cara oranges, tender white oro blanco grapefruit, lush pink grapefruit, and pixie tangerines from Ojai. Together, the melding of textures, flavors, and colors is nearly intoxicating. I finished the salad with some peppy little gem lettuce, my quick-pickled shallots—a kitchen staple I use as much for the tangy shallots as for their brine (you’ll use it in the dressing here)—and some super black peppery honeyed almonds.

This salad is as easy to pull together as it is beautiful and delicious. You’ll want to make it over and over again, because all it asks of you is to be playful and creative with the ingredients you’ve got on-hand. You could add in some cheese if you like; a feta, goat’s cheese, or burrata might be lovely. It’s like the best kind of party, where everyone just gets to be themselves, and it all works.

Which brings me back to my tiredness, and the fog that’s kept me from feeling as morning spry as I’d like. Perhaps I’m sleeping so deeply because I slept poorly for so long and am now making up for it (this is the first time in eight years I don’t have to use ear plugs and an eye mask to sleep), or perhaps my body is just utterly exhausted from the move and all of its attendant transitions. Maybe it’s decision fatigue—the gnawing sense that maybe I should’ve chosen a different frame for that picture or organized my underwear drawer differently. Perhaps I’m just awash in the maddening minutiae of life.

Whatever it is, I’m happier being here on the side of the mountain, happier getting to explore this gorgeous land. This joy is sweet, but it also makes me forget I’m working doubly hard to figure out the puzzle of my new Topanga life. So I’m trying to be patient with myself, a skill I haven’t yet mastered. Getting outside every day helps, watching the slow brilliance of nature take shape around me, every little thing in its own time. Sometimes I feel like I’m gulping down this clean, sweet air, unsullied oxygen I’ve been deprived of for so long in the city.

Yesterday, I found myself at Red Rock Canyon Park for the first time, my jaw slack at the stunning beauty in every direction. The canyon road that leads to Red Rock was already resplendent in spring’s green cloak, but I could barely believe the grandeur of the park. Huge red rock cliff faces squared off against enormous white rock boulders. A hidden creek meandered through stands of white lilac and lupine flowers. Secret caves beckoned from wide canyon vistas. I can’t wait to go back.

In the meantime, I’ll be wading through the minutiae—taxes, new living room furniture, how to manage my storage, where to hang my magnetic knife strip—and feeding myself this salad. Start by making the quick-pickled shallots (a kitchen game-changer in under 10 minutes), then come back for the goods