I know that the core of most healthy people’s diet is salad of some form – replacing some of those calorie-dense carbs with a bed of lettuce of some kind or another. I also know that I’ve yet to crave such things – I am the last girl to ever look straight at the salads at a restaurant. Still, Husband has been making them for me for years now, so I am very familiar with his way of doing things:
Husband’s formula for salad:
Start with good greens: Husband doesn’t like iceberg lettuce, though more power to you if that’s how you get in some salad time. He tends toward mildly bitter lettuces, like spring mix from the grocery store, though we’ve recently been getting local butterhead lettuce which is even earthier (i.e. dirt-flavored).
Add all the veggies in the house: his staples are peppers, carrots, bell peppers, and mushrooms.
Dress with balsamic and oil: Husband has a comically huge jug of balsamic vinegar he got on super-sale one time last year, and we always go through a lot of olive oil, so instead of a dainty bottle of dressing he’s always got these two jumbo containers to contend with.
Add cheese: Husband will put a generous topping of whatever cheese we have in the house, which I always ask him not to do with my salads. Why would I put one of my favorite foods on top of my least favorite? If I have to eat salad, I want to feel like I’ve won a medal for healthy eating. He, on the other hand, actually enjoys it.
I really love that he can get excited about salad, especially since it gives us nice tasks; if I’m finishing up a pasta dish, he’ll come in to the kitchen and prepare two salads, usually not giving me a choice, one with all his favorites and mine with no mushrooms and no cheese. It’s a labor of love, I’m sure, to get me to eat my raw veggies, but he’s doing it.