Maybe I Am A Little Fruity

At a work conference last month I had a food breakthrough. Usually at conferences there’s terribleness: dry fish, boring chicken, well-done beef and enough half-empty plastic water bottles to fill a city dumpster. And while this latest outing surely contained those components, it also proved to open my horizon, or whatever that cliche is.

In college and shortly after, I only ate Caesar salads. Only. I liked them with grilled (or fine, breaded and fried) chicken and hard boiled eggs, but no croutons. I don’t know, the crunch bothered me and they’re so hard to get on the fork. Oh, and sometimes I’d take it in a wrap – the only real variation.

But, I’m growing up. I now add grains, avocado, red peppers and I don’t know, a million other things. But I just couldn’t handle the F-word: FRUIT.

Blackberries – love them, strawberries – love them, grapes – love them. In salads – never.

But then I went for it.

With the force of BS (and his pro-fruit agenda) behind me, I chose the mandarin orange and cranberry salad over mixed greens rather than the tired Romain. And I can’t lie, it was fabulous. The little bits of mandarin became a pop of flavor, letting the light vinaigrette mingle in the background with the assortment of cucumber slices and carrot shreds. Now I can’t say I’m a total convert, but once in a while I will worship to the alter of fruity salads.