We’re undergoing one of my favorite rituals of the holiday season: clearing out the fridge before we leave for Christmas. I just cooked my boursin-bacon-shrimp-and-whatever-vegetables-are-in-the-fridge masterpiece (frozen peas are a crutch) as an example. And this morning my wife, who was late for work, stole the cream sauce leftovers and left a bunch of salad makings in the kitchen.
“Eat a salad today, would you? We’ve got a ton of spring mix left.”
Easy for her to say. She likes salads. I don’t hate em, but they leave me wanting something, probably carbs. So, instead of making a salad, I just put the salad between the last two remaining pieces of sourdough bread I had. Not only was it good, but it was beautiful, in its’ own way:
Crunchy, soft, dry, wet, sweet, sour, dairy, acid, red, green, orange, brown, white.
And it all comes in a handheld.
That’s why I like sandwiches better.