I have no pictures of this salad. I’ll just preface with that. Sometimes I take pictures. Others I keep as a photograph in my memory (key harp solo).

My father-in-law lives in a retirement community. On certain days different stores will bring day-old bread or donate vegetables and the residents get to “shop” the goods, or they get a parcel of goods – I’m not really sure. In any case, my father-in-law (and his mother, who both live there) will relieve the guilt of not using their share (?) by passing on to me the remainder of that parcel. Generally it is delicious and appreciated. Other times it is a parcel of guilt that ends up in my garbage due to my lack of ability to either use immediately or freeze it. Sounds simple enough for a person to do, but not always. My brain is flighty.

Last time it was eggplant. Frank’s grandma had made a wonderful caponatina with as much eggplant as she could use, then handed off the rest to me. I like eggplant. I sliced it, breaded it, and fried it. It was delicious and fully consumed. Well, a few of the eggplants were consumed. There were leftovers. They went to garbage after rotting in my kitchen for well past their prime. I was done frying and couldn’t stand the thought of doing any more. Seems to me no matter what you fry it always smells ends up smelling like fried fish, and it always hangs in the air like bad news for about three days.

Well this time, Joe came over with a bag (Frank’s family has a thing with bags – you can’t visit without leaving with an old plastic grocery bag of something – even if it is an article, one piece of paper – it’s in a plastic grocery bag). So we talk in the driveway for a bit, me leaning over his car, him sitting in the driver’s seat with the engine running. We talked for a bit, and then he handed me the bag like there were porcelain dolls in it. It was tied at the top. He looked in my eyes. “I think it is eggplants.” My stomach sunk a little at the thought of frying up more eggplants.

Lo and behold, I went inside the house, opened it up and found four jumbo peppers (and tomatoes, but they were immediately ignored for the peppers)! My peppers were green with hints of orangish red, so I knew they were going to turn into beautiful red peppers.

I love red peppers. I love them – have you seen how expensive they are lately? This, my friend, was a bag of delight. I put them in a basket and patiently waited for them to turn. The tomatoes… I made some spaghetti sauce.

Days later and finally my peppers were ready. Almost too ready. Remember my flighty-ness? I wanted to make a pepper salad so they could be the main character, shining in the spotlight. Usually I make an Italian-themed pepper salad, but this time I went for something different:

CHILI LIME PEPPER SALAD

(one-bowl prep)

Ingredients
2 large red peppers
1 cucumber
1/2 red onion
2 T. olive oil
1 T. sugar
1 lime
1 tsp. cumin
1/2 tsp. chili powder
salt and pepper to taste
handful of fresh cilantro (or 1/2 T. dried)

Directions
1.) Cut peppers into bite-sized strips (about the size of a pinky, a teensy smaller); place in bowl. Peel cucumbers (I slice the ends off, cut it in half then peel), de-seed, and cut into similar sized strips; place in bowl. Cut onion into same-sized strips. Toss gently in the bowl.
2.) Over your pepper/onion/cuke mix, drizzle olive oil. Cut lime and half and squeeze the juice of both halves into bowl. Toss gently. Sprinkle sugar, cumin, chili powder over; add salt and pepper to taste. Throw in chopped cilantro (I only had dried). Toss gently again. If you can, refrigerate for an hour prior to serving. If not… dig in.

I ate the leftovers with a sprinkle of feta cheese over. Yum. I like a kick, so in the future I might add some cayenne to the mix.

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
Ingredients

• 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

Preparation Instructions
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?