Threat to the System
I've got a restaurant post or two coming 'round the bend, but for now, I present you with a little vignette from my living room.
I belong to this salad club at work. Basically, there are ten people and each person makes a salad once every two weeks. This was appealing to me because it meant I wouldn't have to plan ahead and bring a lunch every day. I suck at planning ahead when it comes to food. Even with restaurants, I probably make reservations only when I am positive that walking in is not an option. It also meant I'd get something healthy at least once a day. You really can't count on me to take care of that for myself otherwise.
This salad club has it's benefits and drawbacks. For instance, one member always brings the same crap salad that all of us hate. We can't tell him not to, but I'm tired of not eating every other Monday. Then we have the superstars who bring in full on eggs florentine and crap with their salads. And then we have the people who are not in the salad club who stare longingly at our spread each day and whine about how elitist it is. Dude, you snooze, you lose, that's what I say. This fucker has been going on since last year and I didn't join until this year, so where were you? Huh? Huh?
Usually people bring bread and cheese or pita and hummus or some sort of carb side dish. I should note that my place of employment keeps Kosher, and vegetarian to make it simple, so our options are somewhat limited, and, like most things vegetarian, somewhat lame (before you start flaming me I should let you know that I love the veggies. I just think it's a little, um, limiting. How's that for PC?).
Yesterday was my day. It was actually only my third turn all year since the bombdiggity Jewish holidays got us out of a lot of school and a lot of those days happened to be Wednesdays. Sweet. Still, when I have my day, I know how to bring it.
I sort of half assed it this time around since I was super busy. I decided to make a fall salad. So I whipped up some pumpkin squares for a little dessert action, bought some cheese and an Acme batard (sweet, not sourdough -- could we all please just get over the fucking sourdough thing already????), and threw my salad contents in the bag.
The final result was some mixed greens with persimmons, satsuma tangerines, fennel, pomegranate seeds and pumpkin seeds. I brought two huge bowls and brought home about one cup of leftover salad. Score.
Last night, Jon, who may or may not have been entirely sober, noticed the tiny salad in the fridge. He took it out and started eating it with his hands as we watched the greatest TV show ever made.
The conversations was as follows:
HIM: This salad is soooo good!
ME: Are you fucking with me?
HIM: NO! I'm serious.
ME: (getting all mushy like) Awww, baby, that's the nicest thing. Thank you so much.
HIM: I think this is the best salad I've ever had.
ME: Even in a RESTAURANT?????
HIM: Yep! Even in a restaurant. You should make salads like this at home more often. I'd eat them all the time.
ME: Uhhhhh, what's that now?
HIM: You should start making these at home more.
Well fuck fuckety fuck fuck fuck. After all the cakes that our friends have demanded, the cookies that food bloggers have clamored for the recipe over, the soups, the meringues, the pate-a-choux, the meats, the everything-under-the-sun, the thing that opens my husbands eyes to the fact that I can *really* cook is a SALAD. And while, I do love to cook, I need my restaurant fix.
Looks like it's time for me to burn some pot roast.
"To eat is a necessity. To eat intelligently is an art."