Salads

Two days ago, I was suddenly craving a salad, only a salad. I promptly headed to the kitchen, grabbed some spinach, chopped up some fresh pears from my tree in the back, threw in some raisins, fresh tomatoes, cashews, carrots, and homemade balsamic vinaigrette. I ate the salad merrily and it satisfied me. This was an automatic action and sat back, bellyful of plants and realized some startling things.

First, I craved a salad. It's not that I've ever disliked salads, they've just merely held role as an occasional supplement for something more meat-intensive. When living in the dorms, I used to eat two big spinach salads a day, nothing too fancy. Merely a giant glob of cottage cheese on top of the bed of leafy goodness. But to crave a salad for dinner, as the star of the show, that's a bit weird.

Next, I realized how rare it would be that I would even have all the ingredients for a bountiful salad on hand. Produce has always been one of those things I just don't buy. I'm typically home for dinner for only about three nights a week, so our produce just goes bad. Nobody in my house snacks on veggies. Lately, the produce has been getting eaten, I've merely thrown away a bunch of cilantro since I've been home.

Finally, and most amazingly, I was content with the salad. It wasn't a lead up to a piece of chicken or a sandwich. It tasted good, it filled me up and it was healthy. I pondered these ideas and wondered if this is one of the first symptoms of adulthood. Liking vegetables...how novel.