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At the beginning of winter, my body did something strange. It began to reject the prospect of salads.
I’ve always been an advocate for adding something fresh and crunchy to each meal, and a salad is a solid way to do so. But the flaccid tasteless produce which was presented to me time and time again forced me to want to avoid them altogether.
It was something I’d never really experienced before. I grew up eating fresh leafy greens from my mother’s garden in Vermont. So, when I see the sad excuses of too many ready-to-eat salads staring up at me from within their plastic disposable tupperware cages, I can’t help but turn my head away in shame and disgust.
We need to start showing our salads some respect, people. They should be a labor of love, not a last ditch compilation of all the raw veggies you happen to have lying around your fridge. The components should compliment each other, and be tailored to fit your culinary needs in each moment–there should always be something crunchy, something vaguely sweet (be it snap peas, carrots, or a tang of maple syrup in your dressing), and if you’re trying to make your salad stand alone as a meal (something I wouldn’t recommend) there better be a hearty bit of protein in there as well.
I’m taking a stand against sad salads! They should be yummy, something that you want to eat, not a compulsory health measure that you force yourself to do, begrudgingly, and in-between intermittent gags.