Even as a self-proclaimed salad-lover, I understand and sympathize with those who don’t care for (or even legitimately dislike) salad. I understand completely.
Salad is a controversial topic, and I think it’s largely because, when we talk about “salad,” we’re often talking about entirely different things. There are no bright-line rules governing what constitutes a salad. I mean, if you’re from my proverbial neck of the woods, boiled potatoes coated in mayonnaise equals salad. Folks, you can combine citrus-flavored Jell-O, brown mustard, mayo, cabbage, white vinegar, and ham… and call it salad. No one will stop you, not even us.
Merriam-Webster says that salad is “a usually incongruous mixture,” listing “hodgepodge” as a close synonym. The dictionary can’t even define salad well, how are we supposed to?
In my experience, a lot of people know salad as limp greens (or in some circles, watery iceberg lettuce) bogged down with whatever brand of bottled Italian dressing is on sale that week, with some too-chunky cucumber rounds and whole grape tomatoes thrown in for good measure. At least, that’s what I grew up understanding salad to be. And who could blame someone for being less than thrilled about that? Not me.
The reality is, salad is often an afterthought—a token sidekick to certain entrees or an easy, throw-together way to get a “vegetable” on the table. However, if you can ditch the semi-traumatic image of what you (through no fault of your own) think salad is, and embrace the idea of what salad can be—i.e. An incredibly vibrant, dynamic, crave-worthy side or main dish—I promise, your life will be better for it.
If you’re open to the possibility, here are TK# pointers that will help you along the way.
Book Reviews by the Reluctant Retiree 