The title says it all, really.
I eat lettuce.
I don’t suppose it is too weird that I eat lettuce. It’s maybe just a little odd how I eat it, though. I eat my greens like some people eat potato chips. Or… Oreos. In excess and like a pig. Sometimes I take a bag of naked greens to work to eat. I like to eat them with my hands. Grab a bunch, pinch it together, and cram it in my pie hole. Because I like to eat it this way, it makes me feel like I’m taking a quarter container of Pringles, stacked, and shoveling them in my mouth. I feel guilty.
Sometimes leaves of greens will drop at my feet. My dog Wheezy doesn’t eat them, so it makes it hard to cover my tracks.
I’ve felt kind of weird about this for a while, now. I’d make my salad on the side, sans dressing, and grab bits with my hand when nobody is looking. I don’t think anyone has noticed, but you know, I’ve decided it could be worse and I might as well embrace it.
Yesterday I made this Lentil Chorizo Stew (mother of pearl, you need to make that, like NOW – it is that good), and when I went to put the kale in, I found myself doing the same thing with the kale. I literally backed off to a corner of my kitchen and ate it raw. Twice. For some reason you can’t right-click on the author’s site with the recipe, but essentially the same recipe is right here, too (posted by same poster), so go there if you want to copy/paste it into a printable form. In fact the one below uses 4 potatoes, like I did, to beef it up a bit.
Lentil Stew with Chorizo and Kale
- 1 bunch Italian Kale, Chopped Into 1″ Pieces (I used bagged and chopped – easier)
- 1 pound Green Lentils, Rinsed
- ¾ pounds Chorizo Sausage, Cooked
- 4 whole Red Potatoes, Cut Into 1/2″ Pieces
- 5 cloves Garlic, Minced
- ½ whole Yellow Onion, Diced Into 1/4″ Pieces
- 8 cups Chicken Stock
- 1 leaf Bay Leaf
- 1 pinch Salt And Pepper, to taste
- 2 Tablespoons Butter
- I added pinch of red pepper flakes
Melt butter over medium-high heat and add garlic, potatoes and onion. Saute for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently, until onions are soft and starting to become translucent. Add chorizo, lentils, chicken stock, bay leaf and salt and pepper. Stir, bring to a boil, then reduce heat, cover and simmer for 30 minutes.
Add kale, stir, cover and simmer for an additional 15 minutes. Serve with crusty bread.
(I really liked this recipe, and so did everyone else. I did, however, get quite uncomfortable digestive-wise after it, so I don’t know if lentils aren’t my thing or if it was a coincidence. I’m scared to eat the leftovers and find out, but it was tasty enough that I will give it a go.)
Anyway, so I’m making that and shoving kale into my mouth. As I’m doing that I’m wondering why in the world am I feeling guilty?
Today, I’m making dinner, kids are gone, and after I’m done I reach into the fridge like a dirty birdie, pull out the half-empty container of spring mix greens and run downstairs with a glass of wine and a fork feeling like I’m mugged someone. It’s not a flat of doughnuts or cookies. Why the guilt?
Maybe it is just indulgence, period. Then again, maybe it stems from being a kid. I loved sneaking into my mom’s garden and eating the veggies like a famished rabbit. But I wasn’t really supposed to be doing that. So I’d grab them like a burglar and stuff them in my mouth. I distinctly remember hoveling down in the garden, eating peas like they were going out of style, breaking into the cherry tomatoes and stuffing myself to the point of illness. And then there was that time with the rhubarb. Overindulged. Still to this day can not touch the stuff. Rhubarb isn’t something you ever EVER want to sneak in a garden and stuff yourself on. Word to the wise.
Before my parents retired recently and moved away, my mom, as usual, had a garden. She’s grow tomatoes and peas in barrels and when they were gone for a week or so, she’d have me water them. My savage ways continued. I’d water them, alright. I’d water them and rob them of every ripe tomato in sight. Considering my own black thumb, it was Garden of Eden to me. It was something I could never attain myself, and couldn’t resist either. Inside my mom’s houseplants would be wilting away from neglect, and outside they’d be over-drenched and robbed of their fruit, then parched to near extinction because they had nothing left to offer me. I wonder what my mom does with the abundant bounty of her plants, now?