Roter Heringssalat (Red Herring Salad with Beetroot)

Every Silvester, my grandmother Eva's kitchen in Kent turned pink. Not from decorations. From Heringssalat. Gretel would arrive on the 30th of December with a jar of Matjesheringe and a bag of beetroot, and by the time they were finished, there was a big ceramic bowl sitting in the fridge, covered in cling film, quietly turning the most extraordinary shade of magenta. You weren't allowed to touch it until New Year's Eve. The waiting was part of it.

Roter Heringssalat is one of those dishes that sounds strange if you haven't grown up with it. Salt-cured herring, beetroot, apple, potato, gherkins, all diced small and folded into a creamy dressing that the beetroot stains a shocking, joyful pink. It tastes better than it has any right to. The herring is briny and rich. The beetroot is sweet and earthy. The apple cuts through with something sharp and fresh. The potato holds everything together, and the gherkins add that vinegar snap that keeps you reaching for another forkful. It's a salad that could only have been invented by people who understood how to make simple ingredients talk to each other.

You must make this the day before you plan to eat it. That's not a suggestion, it's the whole point. The overnight rest lets the beetroot juice bleed into the dressing, turning everything that vivid pink, and it lets every piece of potato and apple and herring absorb the flavors around it. What you taste on New Year's Eve is not six separate ingredients. It's one thing, and it's magnificent.

In Austria, eating herring at midnight on Silvester brings luck for the new year. I don't know if that's true, but I've never been willing to risk finding out. This bowl has been on my table every 31st of December since I can remember, and it will be there again this year.