I love salad for breakfast. Up until a few years ago I thought this made me a little odd. I had been mocked enough by roommates and friends that I learned to keep my fondness for morning salads to myself. I can't tell you how many times in various situations, I'd had this conversation with people:
“What are you making?”
“No, it's not 'weird.”
“Yes, it is. Who eats vegetables in the morning?”
“What are you putting in your eggs?”
“Onion, peppers and...salad in the morning is still weird.”
Cut to me wanting to slam something, but - instead - reaching for salad dressing.
(Jedd knows though, and he doesn't think that it's strange – which is one of the reasons that I like him.)
Then we spent the week with some friends in Brooklyn in 2008, and I found out I wasn't alone in my a.m., salad love at all.
It was wonderful.
We had woken up in shifts and all made our way to the coffee pot, when our hosts offered to make eggs. And then they asked if we wanted a tossed salad too.
“Wha?” I asked.
I could tell that they were a little nervous that I was mocking them - until I jumped up from the floor, skidded on the NYT section that I had splayed out in front of me, tripped over their cat and flew into their arms.
“You like tossed salad in the morning too?!?” I said. “That's fantastic”
Then we had a lovely breakfast of baby greens, cucumber, cherry tomatoes, scallions and a dill vinaigrette.
It was a good way to start the vacation.
I thought of that trip to Brooklyn the other day, when I woke up and had gazpacho for breakfast.
It was sweet, tart, savory, crunchy and a little spicy.
In other words, the perfect way to start the day.