Salad days

Growing up, salad bars were a childhood battleground, offering both the best (chocolate pudding! croutons! vague, mayonnaise-based pasta salad!) and the worst (i.e. vegetables) options a kid could ask for. My mom likes to remind me that as a child I would ask for a salad, "hold the lettuce". For me, salads were all about the accoutrement. No need to mess with the greens when bacon bits and cheddar cheese were its real appeal, right?

My inner 6-year-old would be shocked that twenty years later I'd anxiously await a produce box delivered to my doorstep with the same excitement as a trip up for more garlic bread. After missing out on the farmer's market a few weeks in a row, I decided to order the "local box" at an organic produce delivery in town. I literally applauded at the sight of the box against my door. Then, laying out the loot on the kitchen table, I surveyed my options. Strawberries! Carrots! Garlic! Something....else! What the hell is that?

I'm not sure, but around dinnertime tomorrow I'll be figuring it out. Salad bar, you've been put on notice. Your sneeze guard days are over - the big guns are in town.