Tag Archives: Vegetables

The Veg Box Chronicles, Week 1

Posted on June 18, 2017 by | Leave a comment

In September 2014, two months after I first moved from the City House to the Country House, we passed our pick-up-in-Manhattan-every-Thursday CSA share to friends who lived uptown, rather than cope with the steeplechase of office-in-midtown to pick-up-spot-on-the-UWS to train-station-in-East-Harlem to Country-House-in-Connecticut. I’ve been looking for a replacement ever since, but suburban CT assumes that tasks like Farmer’s Market shopping and CSA collection happen Monday through Friday during the workday. Not so much for us commuter-types, alas.

Luckily for us, an enterprising little business realized that the gap was an opportunity, and we discovered a CSA program with a weekly home delivery of fruits and vegetables, with a significant advantage over the other: no obligation to volunteer at the pick-up point. (I like community, and I like volunteering, but I prefer to be able to control the scheduling of mandatory hours.)

Anyway, back to our CSA. This past Tuesday was our first delivery day, and wow, am I loving having such a fabulous early haul to celebrate. In the first box, we received:

  • A bunch of spring onions
  • A bunch of green garlic (with scapes!)
  • A bunch of French radishes
  • A bunch of kale
  • An enormous pile of greens that he thought were maple leaves; they are, it turns out, a variety of spinach
  • Two gorgeous heads of green leaf lettuce
  • Two small bok choi
  • A big fistful of chives
  • Two small kohlrabi

That’s a lot of green for two non-vegetarian people to eat in a week, but we’re making the best of every delicious bite.

The chives were finely chopped into a rich creamy bowl of butter, which was whipped until all of the herb was incorporated, then wrapped in cling film and rolled into a tight cylinder, and chilled through in the fridge. Amazing on fresh bread, but even better when used to butter-baste a steak.

Garlic scapes and spinach were combined with Parmesan cheese, pine nuts, and herb- infused olive oil to make a smooth, fragrant, and super fresh-tasting pesto. It will keep for a couple weeks in the fridge, and we’ll use it as a thickener and flavor agent in sauces and dressings, as well as a sandwich spread.

The green garlic and kale went into pasta dishes – separately.

Much of the garlic’s stem was too woody to be used, but we sliced the bulb very finely, and sauteed it with some tiny, tender asparagus tips in olive oil, salt, and fresh pepper. The mess was then covered in petite-diced tomato and a fistful of fresh oregano cut from the garden, and the flavors melded over low heat while the pasta cooked. We tossed the sauce with fettuccine and parmesan, and ate it by the forkful (on Thursday) while watching an episode of Guy’s Grocery Games on Hulu.

On Saturday, we cooked the remainder of that fettuccine, and served it with the Kale, which was tossed with a chicken breast that had been marinated in Italian dressing before a quick stir-fry, and halved cherry tomatoes, then stirred into the pasta with Ciliegine mozzarella and a heaping spoonful of our freshly-made Pesto. Our bowls were empty before the Signature Bake of Cake Week had been judged on S4E1 of The Great British Baking Show.

We passed both kohlrabi to our neighbor, since she expressed interest in a vegetable I can’t stand, and it’s likely that the bok choi will be composted since neither of us enjoy eating it. But the rest of our take is currently spread across the kitchen counters as he works on dinner: a Frittata with onion, asparagus, tomato, mushroom, and Wisconsin cheddar, served with  Hasselback potatoes, a green salad made of some of the lettuces, and pan roasted radishes (olive oil, salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce).

The lettuce that remains will be tossed into a salad (tomato, cucumber, olives, and crumbled cheese left over from a party platter we made last weekend, dressed with some balsamic vinegar and a hint of the pesto). I have no idea what we’re doing with the rest of the onions, but they’ll have to be the star of Monday’s supper.

And since I’m a data nerd, I’m tracking what we spend on produce during CSA season, to be sure that we’re being careful stewards of our bounty. This week’s costs are:

  • Amortized weekly cost of CSA = $53
  • Additional produce purchased = $12.60
    • Red Seedless Grapes (2.74 pounds, $2.66)
    • Asparagus (0.77 lbs, $3.07)
    • Cherry Tomato (1 pint, $3.29)
    • Cucumber (1, $0.59)
    • Blueberries (1 pint, $2.99)

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The Luck of the Not-Quite-Irish

Posted on March 18, 2016 by | Leave a comment

Painted in Waterlogue

Aside from Thanksgiving turkey, holiday celebrations at the Country House don’t call for a specific food. Christmas is Christmas, whether there’s boeuf bourguignon or leftover spaghetti on the table. Memorial Day might be the unofficial start of summer’s grilling season, but what goes on the grill varies from year to year. There might be pork on New Year’s Day, but whether it’s smoked sausage or spare ribs doesn’t matter to us.

Then there’s St. Patrick’s Day. That’s not a big deal. Neither of us claims significant Irish heritage. The thing to celebrate, really, was the successful opening of my show that meant A Weeknight at Home—the first in ages. We certainly weren’t going to celebrate with green beer. (Ew. Whether it’s green or not.)

Fried chicken would have been appropriately festive, but I wanted to do something out of the ordinary. A slow-braised pot of corned beef and cabbage would be a nice change, but I don’t have a time machine that would have let start the braise before we left for work. If I wanted to be even remotely Irish-themed, improvisation would be required. Or, at least, a trip to the deli.

I picked up a pound of sliced corned beef. A bag of sauerkraut. Carrots were in the fridge at home. I considered letting the prepared-foods counter do the work of mashed potatoes, but a two-serving tray seemed awfully dear at $12.99, and a 5-pound bag of spuds was on sale for under a dollar.

We nibbled a little aged cheddar-flavored-with-Irish-whiskey as a starter.  That was as close to drunken debauchery as our St. Patrick’s Day would get.

I scrubbed and diced the potatoes, skin-on: the mash wouldn’t be as creamy, but it’d be healthier. Besides, I like potato skin. In the time it took the potatoes to cook, I rinsed the kraut and grated a couple of carrots into it to temper the tang, and added a little caraway seed and a grating of black pepper. This went to warm in a saucepan. (Sauerkraut is, of course, not part of an authentically Irish corned beef supper. So what? We like kraut.)  The corned beef was tossed in a hot skillet until slightly crisped.

The kraut-and-beef was piled on toasted home-baked bread. It wasn’t rye, but home-baked seemed more authentic–or at least better than store-bought. A semi-fluffy mound of mash said “Potato famine? What potato famine?”  There were green beans, just because. It was not in the least what Paddy O’Whomever’s ma would have served, but we enjoyed it.

As for luck? Well, sometimes you make your own.

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Not So Casual Day

Posted on February 22, 2016 by | Leave a comment

Painted in Waterlogue

She wore jeans to the office on Friday. No big surprise there; she often does that, and sometimes on mid-week days when she doesn’t have meetings planned. Even in jeans, she looks professional, put-together, and not a bit sloppy: she looked, as she always does, classy.

I was wearing running clothes, as I usually do for breakfast-and-lunch prep and ferrying her to the train; I usually run or exercise or do whatever semi-messy chores the day-start requires after she’s on her way. I didn’t have time to run on Friday, though; I had to get to church for a funeral service.

I’d never met the deceased, a woman in her 80s who’d been in a nursing facility for the past few years; I’d only spoken with her husband a couple of times. He’s a trim, well-spoken fellow, who was holding himself together, just. During the service, his brother-in-law told the story of they met, how his sister had plenty of suitors but this skinny guy somehow won her heart, and as they dated and even long into their marriage he looked at her as if he couldn’t believe his luck. Others told stories of their entertaining, her gardening, her love for books; how classy she was.

At the reception after the service, I saw some photographs of the two of them in younger days, including the wedding portrait that had been displayed at the front of the church. I’ve seen plenty of old photographs, and lots of wedding portraits that make me think, “Well, that was how people looked then.” Not this time: this lady was beautiful for any generation. And classy. And he had that same, “Me? Really? With her?” look. (I suspect you’ll recognize that same look on my face in photos of us.)

I hadn’t planned it this way, but was glad for the lunch I’d packed us both: plenty of crunch, a little salt, and a little sweetness.

Roasted Beet and Clementine Salad

2 roasted beets, peeled and sliced or chopped into bite-sized wedges.
1 small package of soft goat cheese, crumbled
2 teaspoons pecans, toasted in a dry sauté pan until fragrant.
2 cups of assorted salad greens
1 clementine, peeled, sliced in half, and segmented (but not squeezed)
1/2 tsp each balsamic vinegar and olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Toss all in a large bowl, then plate or package into to-go containers.

Serves 2, who would rather be dining together.

I didn’t loosen my tie as I finished my day. I wanted to look good when I picked her up from the train. I was careful not to spill salad on my shirt.

 

Beet and clementine salad.png

 

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Not Giving Up

Posted on February 12, 2016 by | 1 comment

IMG_0091My grandmother did not teach me how to cook brisket. But if she had, I wouldn’t be making it today.

This is the first Friday in Lent, the season leading to Easter that many Christians traditionally observe by fasting and abstaining from certain foods. “What are you giving up for Lent?” is a common refrain. The church in which I grew up focuses a lot on such food-based observance: meat is not eaten on Fridays in Lent.

Which means that, according to the letter of the law, one may not eat a three-day-old pastrami sandwich—but going out for lobster would be perfectly appropriate. That doesn’t seem like much of a sacrifice to me, unless one had a shellfish allergy.

I’m not here to argue theology or the rationale for food-based religious traditions. I just wanted to have lunch. I was running a little behind this morning, so I opened the fridge to grab something left over to take with me. But I couldn’t see anything meatless.

I honestly don’t think the creator of the universe cares if I have chicken salad on Friday. And for the first time, I’m working in a church that doesn’t have the same sort of restrictive traditions regarding Lent that I grew up with. Nobody would care if I brought a bacon-triple-cheeseburger for lunch. But it would feel strange to me.

I guess I could run out at lunchtime and buy a tuna sub.

And yet going out for lunch—even a modest one—seemed against the Lenten spirit. I looked in the fridge again.

There were couple of hard-boiled eggs. And the leftover vegetables from last night’s dinner. And some brown rice. Heat the rice and veg, slice the eggs overtop, maybe a splash of soy sauce…

Give up chocolate but have the apple pie? No coffee but twice as much soda? No video games but unlimited TV? Not much gain on those plays. But modest discipline seems appropriate. It’s how I was raised. It’s what I was taught. I won’t feel a need to confess if I have a bite of turkey some Friday, but I’m not quite ready to give up all “giving up” yet.

As I ate my not-quite-bibimbap—which was so much better than than any tuna sub—I thought of my mom and my grandma. I hope they’d be pleased that I kept tradition.

Like a grandmother’s brisket.

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Sprouts and Spies

Posted on August 25, 2015 by | Leave a comment

She worked late, with a plan to pick up dinner for herself to eat on the train. I hoped that meant she hadn’t skipped lunch, but she’s a grown-up; sometimes that happens.

I wasn’t called for either of the rehearsals I’d been expecting, so I worked a while longer on a church-music project, and then headed for the market. There wasn’t much we needed, but if she wasn’t going to be home for dinner, there would be Brussels Sprouts. Or broccoli, if the sprouts didn’t look good.

They looked fine; they came pre-shredded. I would have been happy with whole ones, which I would have halved, steamed lightly, and then sautéed with some olive oil, lemon, salt, and pepper. But the shredded ones would be good, too; I could skip the steaming and make a sort of hot slaw.

I heated two pans–one cast-iron, the other non-stick–fed the cats, and put away the rest of the groceries. Our market makes great burgers studded with cheddar and bacon, but they’re too big; I bought a pair and reformed them into three. Two went into the freezer; one went into the now blazing cast-iron pan. My prep also included opening two windows and cranking the exhaust fan to its “jet engine” setting. I was determined to properly cook a burger without setting off the smoke detector.

When the burger was seared, I stuck it in the oven and turned my attention to the sprouts. Their skillet had a little oil in it; as they started to brown, I added a few drops each of soy sauce and lemon juice, tossed them a bit. I drizzled on a little maple syrup, a teaspoon of water, turned off the heat and lidded the pan. The market suggested sautéing onions and bacon with the sprouts, but my burger had bacon and I didn’t feel like onion.

By the time two slices of crusty bread were toasted, tomato was sliced, and our next-door neighbor had debriefed me of her kitchen-tile purchase, everything was ready–even a lovely cocktail of grapefruit juice, seltzer, a splash of gin, and a few drops of bitters.

She would be better company than an old TV show, but when I’m alone I’ve been making my way through the Jennifer Garner series Alias, which I haven’t seen in years. She watched the first couple of episodes with me, but the show didn’t really catch her interest–it’s too suspense-filled for her taste. She tries sprouts now and again, but they’re not her style either. That’s okay; we don’t have to like the same things, and we certainly aren’t going to impose our tastes on each other. The idea of giving her nightmares and indigestion–well, that’s what it gives me. 

So I’ll wait ’til she works late. Sprouts and spies, a burger and a beverage. It could be worse, but I’m ready for her to come home.

  

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The Almost-as-Easy Way Out

Posted on August 6, 2015 by | Leave a comment
This is not a sombrero.

This is not a sombrero.

It was a perfect night for takeout.

I’d had a very full day–morning in the office, followed by three rehearsals, each in a different town.  It was fun, but exhausting. I was tempted to call and ask what she might like me to pick up on the way home. But we had prepared for such a possibility. I’d grilled a skirt steak, some chicken sausages, and a pair of chicken breasts; there were plenty of things we could easily form into meals. After far too much time (and money) spent in restaurants during my summer show’s production week, we were not going to take the easy way out.

Speedy Semi-Moroccan Semi-Stew

Add 1 T oil to a non-stick skillet over medium heat.

Boil 2 cups water.

While the oil warms, do the chopping:
1/2 green pepper
1/2 sweet onion
1/2 tomato
1 pre-cooked chicken breast
A handful of salted peanuts
A handful of green beans

Obviously it would be easy–and maybe even prudent–to double all these quantities, but I’d grilled some vegetables on Sunday night to go with the sausages, and taken some thick slices out of a tomato for steak sandwiches; these  amounts were what was on hand.

Use 1 cup of the water to soak 2/3 cup whole-wheat couscous. (Adjust these quantities as necessary according to package directions.)

Use the other cup of water to reconstitute a handful of raisins and 4 or 5 roughly chopped dried apricots.

Sauté the onion and pepper, then add the tomato and beans.

Add the chicken, fruit, and 1/2 t Marrakesh spice blend. (It looked and smelled to me like chili powder, cumin, coriander, cinnamon, and salt.)

When the chicken is warmed, add a handful of baby spinach, and half of the remaining fruit-soaking liquid.  When the spinach is wilted a bit and the liquid is reduced a little, remove the skillet from heat.

Fluff the couscous with a fork. Add a little butter if you’re feeling frisky. Pack the couscous into measuring cups, ramekins, or even cookie cutters, and turn out the  molded grain into the center of 2 shallow bowls.

Spoon semi-stew around the couscous. Top with the crushed peanuts. Spoon any remaining liquid over the couscous.

Serves 2, who will probably wish you’d doubled the quantities to have leftovers for lunch.

I’d walked in the door at 9:35 PM. Dinner was on the table at 10. Not the easy way out, perhaps, but the almost-as-easy. Probably the healthier, too.

She put down her spoon. “You did take a picture, didn’t you?”

I think that was her way of saying dinner was all right.

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Why-Not Pizza

Posted on May 14, 2015 by | Leave a comment

Mixer Closeup

I knew I’d be alone for dinner last night, as she was having a dinner meeting with some people on the committee for her big summer event. The cats would be home, too, of course, but I’d be cooking only for myself. When I’m going to be home alone–which isn’t all that often–I try to make something I like that she doesn’t. Brussels sprouts were an obvious choice, but they’re not in season.

By the time I finished a rehearsal at which my kids were frustratingly unfocused, I considered just having a bottle of wine for dinner. But I knew that wouldn’t happen, not least because I wanted to be able to drive to meet her late-arriving train–and I had work I wanted to do for which clear-headedness was a good idea. So not wine, or at least not just wine.

We’ve been trying to eat from our pantry as much as possible. She reminded me the other day of a couple of tins on the top shelf, so I decided to use those. They were smoked oysters, which I had on a pizza a long time ago and really enjoyed. I’ve made that pizza many times over the years, and if it was never quite as wonderful as that first time, it was always pretty good.  I knew it was something she wouldn’t want to share, so it was the perfect choice. I knew I had an open jar of marinara sauce and plenty of cheese.

I stopped at the market on the way home to pick up pre-made pizza dough. I could have made dough from scratch, but I was trying to speed things along; if the oven was internet-equpped I would have sent it a “preheat” command. While my off-line oven warmed, I gathered cheese and sauce (and mushrooms, for good measure) from the fridge, and cleaned some broccoli to steam as a side. (Yes, pizza and broccoli. I wanted something green, and remember that the object was a dinner she wouldn’t want to share.) I pulled down the cans from the top shelf and opened them into a strainer.

The tins weren’t smoked oysters after all.  They were octopus and squid. (Well, at least now I had a dinner she really wouldn’t want to eat.) As for why I had tinned octopus and squid in the house, it probably had to do with thinking, “Well, I like oysters, so why not?” I like smoked oyster pizza, so why not try octopus and squid?

The dough stretched into a beautiful thin round. I topped it and slid it onto the hot pizza stone. I set the timer, fed the cats, and headed to the office. In almost no time I’d recorded a pretty good vocal part for the demo I was working on–but then I realized a measure of accompaniment I’d wanted to cut was still in the track. It didn’t take long to get rid of it and stitch back together the vocal part to make the transition seamless. By the time I finished, I figured the timer was about to go off, so I happily saved my work and went upstairs.

That’s when I realized I’d set the timer on the microwave oven, which isn’t nearly loud or insistent enough to get my attention. It had beeped and then went silent, not being smart enough to alert me again. If I had an internet-equipped microwave, maybe it would have sent me a text message: Your pizza is ready. Oh, and by the way, it’s in the OVEN, not in the microwave.

It was overdone, but not too far gone. The outer crust was too crisp, but the rest of the pie wasn’t destroyed. I let it rest on the counter for a couple of minutes while the broccoli steamed in the microwave, then sliced and plated pizza and green thing.

Octopus and squid can get terribly tough if it isn’t cooked properly. The tinned varieties are already cooked, so I was really only reheating them. I didn’t do much damage. Perhaps if I’d gotten the pie out of the oven sooner, it would have been a little less chewy, but it was far from awful.

As for my “why-not” pizza, the real question is, “why bother?” I’ll have the leftovers for lunch today, and then I won’t make it again. There are lots of things I prefer to put on pizza–and lots of pizza toppings she enjoys sharing. If I go to the tinned-fish section of the market again, it’ll be for tuna. Cooking for one–even eccentrically and somewhat experimentally–is fine, but cooking for us both is better.

This waveform is not of me saying, "Damn! I burned the pizza!"--though that would have been clever.

This waveform is not of me saying, “Damn! I burned the pizza!”–though that would have been clever.

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It’s Just a Day

Posted on May 13, 2015 by | Leave a comment
No birthday-feast-at-home cooking means the kitchen stays tidy until the real photographer arrives.

No birthday-feast-at-home cooking means the kitchen stays tidy until the real photographer arrives.

Our birthdays have passed.  I worked ridiculous hours on hers, and she worked a very long day on mine. On both, we spent what little “free” time we had working on the house, since the real estate photographer was scheduled to visit this morning.

Of course, the Creator of the Universe having an occasionally wry sense of humor, that didn’t happen. The photographer quit his job yesterday, and the company he worked for didn’t tell our realtor–so there she was, first thing in the morning, setting out the jars of lemons and the sale-bait throw pillows. I’m hoping that neither cat sheds a single hair between now and the rescheduled appointment–and hoping that the agency keeps the new photographer happy long enough to get the job done.

On her birthday, we had great burgers on the way to the theatre. She dropped me off at the theatre for the matinee, went for a hair appointment, and came back to see the evening show.

On mine, I left my studio to meet her train, and we went for a Japanese performance-art dinner at a restaurant on the way home. We had the place almost to ourselves, which was fun in its own way. We got the chef’s undivided attention–as well as all the flying broccoli.  We oohed and ahhed over the onion volcano, and tucked into speedily grilled chicken, steak, shrimp, vegetables, fried rice and noodles.

In both cases, we got home and finished our chores too late and tired for cake, but we can have cake another time. Life is sweet without it.

It would be nice to have an entire day to ourselves, to celebrate, or maybe just to sit.  It would be nice to think that’s how we can spend our birthdays, but that’s not the way it is yet. Or maybe ever. But a birthday–it’s just a day. A celebration can be deferred so long as the event isn’t forgotten.

While replying to birthday messages this morning, I saw this recipe I’d written up and posted to Facebook years ago.  I don’t think I forgot to cook the fish, or if there wasn’t time for it, or just decided not to. It could be an unconventional belated birthday feast sometime.  Or maybe

Not the Special at Ocean Grill

My meat-and-potatoes Dad would be pleased that I can feed myself, but probably would shake his head at this one.

Pierce a spaghetti squash (about 2 lbs.) all over with the point of a knife.  Microwave on high until tender (about 15 min.)

In a heatproof measuring cup or bowl, soak a handful of dried mushrooms in a cup of boiling water.

Film a skillet with olive oil and set it over medium-low heat.  Sweat in it:

3 shallots, sliced thinly

1 t garlic, minced

1 rib celery, sliced thinly

After a few minutes, add to the skillet

1 carrot, diced

Clean and remove the tough stems from

1/2 bunch collard greens

Remove the mushrooms from the soaking liquid; slice them and set aside.  Strain the liquid to remove any sandy bits, then pour the liquid into a saucepan over medium heat.  Add to the liquid:

1 envelope bonito flakes (or 1 T miso)

1 t soy sauce

Stir to combine, and cook until the liquid is reduced by half.

Cut the greens into thin strips, add to the saucepan; cover, reduce heat to medium-low, and cook until the greens are tender but not mushy (about 8 minutes).

While the greens are cooking, add to the skillet:

2 T tomato paste

1 t balsamic vinegar

the sliced mushrooms

Stir until combined. Then remove half of the vegetable mixture to the bowl of a food processor and puree.  Add a little olive oil and some of the greens liquid to thin the puree if necessary.  Return the puree to the skillet and stir to combine.

Slice the squash in half, scoop out the seeds, then use a fork to separate the flesh into “spaghetti.”  Salt and pepper the squash to taste, and add a little butter (or olive oil, if dairy is forbidden).

Top the squash with the greens and vegetable sauce.  Sprinkle with a little parmesan cheese (or soy substitute).

The tilapia that was supposed to perch atop a mountain of vegetables?  Serve that another day.  Maybe with the leftovers, if there are any.

Not a bit of clutter in sight. Mostly because we're not home long enough to do anything but sleep...

Not a bit of clutter in sight. For the moment, anyway.

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(Con)Fusion Cuisine

Posted on April 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

IMG_0047

When I packed her lunch I put aside a couple of things in a sack for my own, but I didn’t really think through the day. Then, after a busy morning at home I needed to get out the door fast.  I looked in the sack I’d sort-of-packed. There was protein. There was fruit. There was a hearty evening snack to eat during a rehearsal break. But no vegetables. There was only time to grab the first green thing in the crisper and hope it would work out. 

Thus it was that, at lunchtime, I found myself with pizza and asparagus. The former was leftover from a few evenings ago; the latter hadn’t been cooked yet, but were only few hours shy of their sell-by date. The pizza reheated nicely enough in the toaster oven. The asparagus, wrapped in a moist paper towel, steamed in the microwave. I ate standing up, while filing choir music and watching a liturgical-music documentary. It was not a fine dining experience, but it could have been worse. The pizza was nearly as good as it had been when it was first baked. The asparagus had enough crispness left to satisfy my craving for greens. It was an odd combination, but not unpalatably weird. 

Keep your Tex-Mex. Your French-Chinese. Your eel, lettuce, and tomato hand roll. I’ll take a slice of pizza and something green. Maybe I’ll even put the green thing on the pizza.

Unless it’s okra.  Or canned peas. That would just be wrong.

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Pizza and asparagus look prettier as a watercolor.

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Shoots and Leaves (and Two Forks)

Posted on March 16, 2015 by | Leave a comment

“Honestly, I won’t eat that at work.” I figured as much, but thought a little salad might go nicely with two slices of leftover pizza. “Let’s have it with dinner,” she said, handing me back the package as she packed the rest of her lunch. (I don’t so much pack her lunch as leave it on the kitchen counter; she puts it in whatever bag she’s carrying. Sometimes, as with the salad, she’ll pass on an item–“Yesterday’s yogurt is still in the office fridge,” for instance.)

Salads are tricky for lunch-at-your-desk, unless they’re the main course. There’s too much potential for dressing-spillage. Who wants to submit a report with vinaigrette on it–or, worse, requisition a new computer keyboard because Alt and Enter are gummed up with Thousand Island?

Also, she seldom eats salad alone. She “steals” it off a plate we share. It’s my salad; she’s just getting away with something. I’m not sure I understand, but it’s been this way for far too long for me to question it now. It makes things convenient when we’re out to eat, though: she’ll have the fries, I’ll have the salad, and we’ll split them both. (It’s not quite as stereotypically romantic as sharing a milkshake, but probably healthier.)

She brought home a bagged salad a week or so ago, and we agreed it was the best such we’d ever had: kale, cabbage, and carrot, topped with sunflower seeds, bacon bits, and a slightly-creamy citrus vinaigrette. The salad was tremendously crunchy and savory. The bitter greens were nicely balanced by the slightly-sweet dressing. My only complaint–and it wasn’t really one–was that the greens were shredded so finely the salad was more like a slaw. There’s nothing wrong with slaw, but it wasn’t what I was expecting. And maybe shredding the greens diminished their bitterness.

We met at a diner before going to the theatre last Wednesday. Diners with novel-sized menus can be intimidating, but I narrowed it down: since I’d had a sandwich for lunch, I restricted myself to the salad page. I wasn’t looking for meat or cheese. I didn’t read too closely, but the one with cranberries looked appealing.

Our meals came. We laughed. The cranberries were, of course, topping a bowl of kale, cabbage, and carrot. No sunflower seeds, though, and no bacon. Too many dried cranberries, maybe, and the oil-and-white-vinegar dressing was not so interesting as the bagged salad’s. The vegetables were in big pieces, almost the size you’d want for a stir-fry.

I wondered what it would be like to stir-fry that combination of vegetables and top them with fresh bacon, or maybe some sliced sausage. It would really be a main dish. She pointed out that greens become more bitter when heated. She’s right, which doesn’t bother me a bit, since I like bitter greens (and I like it when she is right). We’d want sweetness to balance, like the dressing that came in the bag–or, better yet, one just like it that is made only from ingredients we can pronounce.

I’ll try it some night, and serve it in a big bowl. With two forks.

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