Happy Monday, folks! My husband, Peter, is in the house today writing some words about salad. I really love this human, and I hope you do too. But, not too much. He’s mine. Alright, I’ll chill out. Here’s some words on vegetables… 

I come from a family of salad skeptics. Sure, we’d have lettuce or vegetables as a side with dinner. Maybe it’d even include salad dressing with questionable expiration dates from my parent’s fridge. But the concept of a salad as a main course was a foreign one. The closest we got was a kale-mashed potato-sausage mash-up that I hated as a kid, however, older me is kicking younger me for missing out on that treasure. That diddy was of course made and served by my mom. My dad falls into the camp of “suspicious of anything green”. To this day, when it comes to vegetables, getting my father to eat his broccoli is a bib and a highchair away from my mother trying to airplane it into his mouth. So, salad as dinner? No. […]