Cheesed off

When I was a little kid, I was always wary of eating salad. If it was green and was not covered with melted cheddar cheese, there was never usually a good chance that such an item would come within a foot of my mouth.

In my old age, though, I’ve matured a little bit. If I am eating at a restaurant and my dinner comes with a salad, I can manage to swallow it while washing it down with a nice vinaigrette.

However, I cannot bring myself to eat garden salads. My ideal salad is basically a bowl of lettuce with croûtons and a sufficiently fattening dressing. I have nothing against garden salads in regards to their content except for one item.

When the chef takes those little strips of carrots and showers my salad with them, my basic instinct (or wishful thinking, whichever you prefer) says, “Oooh! Cheese!”

Oh no, my friends. It’s just carrot. Yuck.

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