Mediterranean Potato Salad

Start Here—Or, How I Fell in Love With Potato Salad (Again)

Okay, listen, I was never that excited about potato salad. You know the ones—those gloppy, mayo-heavy blobs at family picnics? But one summer, totally spur-of-the-moment, I was at my friend’s house and their grandmother from Athens whipped up this *other* kind of potato salad. Olive oil instead of mayonnaise. Loads of fresh everything. I swear, I sat at their wobbly kitchen table thinking: wait, potato salad can taste like a freakin’ Greek vacation? Ever since then, I’ve been kinda obsessed. Plus, it’s basically foolproof—which I discovered after a mildly disastrous attempt involving overcooked spuds and, don’t ask, jarred salsa. Anyway, let’s get to it.

Why I Keep Making This Mediterranean Potato Salad

I bring this to potlucks when I don’t want to worry about soggy lettuce or weird creamy stuff overheating in the sun. My family honestly goes mad for it—my cousin once hid the leftovers out back during a barbecue just so she could have seconds later (I caught her, obviously). Sometimes when I’m feeling lazy, I just mix in whatever herbs are about to wilt in my fridge and somehow it always tastes like I meant to do that. And! No mayo to split or curdle on a hot day—big plus. I honestly think it gets tastier after a few hours (on second thought, maybe that’s just the garlic working its magic?)

Ingredients List, With Some Swaps I Actually Use

• 1 kg (about 2 pounds) small potatoes (Yukon Gold are terrific, but I’ve used red-skinned or even those random little ones from Aldi—no one’s noticed)
• 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil (sometimes I use a splash less if I’m low; my grandmother, though, always went all in)
• Juice of 1 large lemon, plus more if you’re a citrus nut
• 1-2 cloves garlic, minced (if you want to live dangerously, add three!)
• 1/2 small red onion, really thinly sliced (white onion works in a tight pinch, or skip altogether if you’re onion-averse)
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved (but I’ve used sun-dried tomatoes from a jar—they add a punchy flavor that’s not half-bad)
• 1/4 cup Kalamata olives, pitted and roughly chopped (okay, any olives in a crisis, except those weird canned black ones—they taste of nothing, don’t they?)
• 1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley (cilantro in an emergency; though it does change things… not always for the better)
• A handful of crumbled feta (honestly, use as much as you like, my measurements are never exact here)
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• Optional: 1 pinch dried oregano or sumac, or, if you’re me, a random splash of that herby vinegar you found in the back of the pantry

The Actual Steps—With All My Tangents

1. First, scrub your potatoes but, um, don’t peel them (the skin adds texture, plus I always find peeling potatoes oddly soul-destroying). Chuck them into a pot, cover with cold water, add a big pinch of salt, and bring the whole thing to a simmer. Takes about 15-20 minutes for small potatoes; stab with a knife to see if they’re done (not too mushy please—it’s not mash!).
2. Drain those beauties. Let them hang out until cool enough to handle. Sometimes I’m too impatient, pick up a hot one, then regret it. Cut them into chunky, rustic slices or quarters—doesn’t have to be precise.
3. While the potatoes are chilling, make your dressing: In a big bowl, whisk your olive oil, lemon juice, minced garlic, salt, pepper, and (if using) a pinch of oregano or sumac. Taste it—this is where I usually sneak a small dip of bread, “just to check.”
4. Toss in your still-warm potatoes. Stir gently, so you don’t pulverize them. They’ll soak up the dressing better while they’re warm, actually.
5. Now chuck in the onions, tomatoes, olives, parsley, and about half the feta. Give everything a gentle mix (bonus points if your bowl is large enough so stuff doesn’t slosh onto the counter—mine never is).
6. Taste it again (ahem—very important). Needs more lemon? Go for it. A bit more olive oil? No one’s looking.
7. Top with the rest of the feta right before serving. Sometimes I scatter on some extra herbs too, just so it looks like I tried harder.

Stuff I Learned the Hard Way

• Do not overcook the potatoes! Once I turned my salad into spud porridge because I got stuck watching a rerun of Bake Off. It wasn’t pretty but folks still ate it, bless them.
• I used bottled lemon juice once out of pure laziness—it tasted weird and I regretted every bite.
• If you accidentally add too much garlic, I’ve found letting it rest a bit takes the edge off. Patience, apparently, is a seasoning.

Variations (Some of Which Actually Work)

• Chopped roasted red peppers add this smoky zing that’s great. Tried grilled zucchini once—eh, too soggy for me.
• No feta? Goat cheese gets close. Or just leave it out and it’s vegan (I discovered this by accident when I forgot the cheese, ha!).
• Sometimes I add capers—my partner loves that briny hit but my nephew called it “fishy salad” so, you know, to each their own.
• Leftover grilled chicken stirred through makes it kind of a meal, except then I can’t call it “side salad” and nobody gets it as a starter.

What Kitchen Stuff You Need (Or Not)

• One big saucepan for boiling (if you’re desperate, microwave them in a covered bowl with a splash of water—works, just dice them first and watch they don’t dry out)
• Large mixing bowl (mine has a chip in it, but does the job)
• Sharp knife (blunt ones will drive you bonkers here and mush the potatoes)
• Wooden spoon or, in a pinch, your hands—washed, obviously

How to Store Mediterranean Potato Salad (Like It’ll Last)

Technically, you can keep it in the fridge for up to 3 days in a sealed container. But honestly? It never lasts that long at my place; someone always grabs a fork for “a small taste” every time the fridge door opens. If you somehow have leftovers, give them a good toss before serving again—the oil settles at the bottom.

How I Serve It—And a Slight Family Tradition

We plonk the bowl down right in the middle of the table—no one bothers with fancy plating. It’s a staple at our summer picnics, next to grilled chicken or those little lamb skewers my brother-in-law insists on burning (he calls it caramelizing, I call it scorched earth). I like a little extra lemon wedge on the side. Leftovers (ha, as if) are really good stuffed into pita bread, with a handful of greens if you have them.

Things I Wish I’d Known Sooner (My Pro Tips)

• I once tried to shortcut the cooling and just flung hot potatoes into the bowl—the feta turned into blobs and the herbs wilted. Learned my lesson!
• Chill the onions in lemon juice for a few minutes before adding—they lose that raw bite, which my aunt used to call “dragon’s breath.”
• If it feels too dry after a while, just add more olive oil—don’t be shy.

Questions I’ve Actually Gotten From Friends

Can I make Mediterranean Potato Salad in advance?

Yeah—actually, I think it kinda tastes better after it sits a few hours. If you wanna go really wild, prep the dressing and veggies a day before and keep ’em chilled, then toss with warm potatoes on the day.

What potatoes work best?

Smaller waxy types! Yukon Gold, Charlottes, new potatoes… but honestly, just not floury mashers. If that’s all you’ve got, chill them extra well so they don’t fall apart.

Is it healthy?

I’m not a doctor, but with all the olive oil and fresh veggies, I’d say it’s right decent. Certainly feels more virtuous than mayo bombs. For more about the heart healthiness of Mediterranean diets, I sometimes browse Oldways—blend of science and old-fashioned wisdom.

Where did you learn this?

I started out copying from BBC Good Food’s Mediterranean section, then kept adapting with what I had about. Don’t be afraid to mix and match—that’s the Mediterranean way, apparently.

A Quick Digression (Skip This If You’re Hungry)

Sneaky side note: once, I tried making this outdoors during a camping weekend and—wow—boiling potatoes over a fire is more complicated than it sounds! Soot everywhere, but the salad at the end? Worth the drama. (If you try this, pack twice as many olives, trust me; they vanish fast around a campfire.)