Simple vs. Stimulating Salads
by Miguel Rodriguez
At home they call me “the salad man” because I have perfected the art of making a salad—or so I thought. Being in charge of salads in our Colombian, vegetarian kitchen, I love to experiment and take salad-making to a higher level. Moving away from simple Caesar salads, I consider myself an expert in toppings. After finishing the basic components of lettuce, tomatoes, green onions, olives, and cucumbers, I customize my salads to satisfy my personal desires. For refreshing, I can garnish the salad with fruits and nuts including but not limited to apples, cashews, pineapples, raisins, and cranberries. Even though this may sound as if I am making a fruit salad, by adding just one or two of these toppings, my salad becomes a more tropical and delightful Caesar salad. With overflowing possibilities of different dressings, extras, and presentations, the fun I have in making a salad gains in complexity and opportunity for experimenting.
“Simplicity” is a noun that does not readily apply to me, especially not in the kitchen. Simplicity is more nearly an antonym. Whether I am making a salad or an occasional pasta or dessert, simplicity leaves me unfulfilled. Spices, toppings, dressings, and other optional ingredients are waiting to be used. Hidden tastes, attracting aromas, and elegant displays are created by looking past the basic ingredients. In my opinion, simple salads are for those who fear to explore the miracles of toppings. I say that I have not yet perfected salad-making because of my conflict with simplicity. In many fields simplicity is considered a virtue. It is advice given by great philosophers and endorsed by commerce. Billboards, advertisements, and sales representatives almost always offer simplicity “The all in one…no need for individual spices. Say good bye to complications…with the all in one…. cooking is simple.” Even fashion styles for clothes support simple colors of just black and white. Today the word simple is associated with easy, classy, and clean; but for me, it becomes a limit to imagination. Rather, I perceive simple as plain, unadorned, and unimaginative. In cooking I always avoid simplicity. Complexity in salad-making produces delicious, dynamic salads that simple cooking could never attain, but complexity also risks unfavorable tastes over which simple cooking never has to worry.
“Is the salad almost ready?” my mom roars over the sizzling, washing, and steaming racket of the kitchen. “Almost,” I respond, searching through the top drawer of the cupboard. Looking through spices and wondering if I will garnish the salad with a pinch of mint, Italian seasoning, or olive oil, I am making a refreshing and cheesy, Mexican-style salad to accompany homemade bean burritos. Modifications to obtain this style include generous amounts of avocadoes and Roma tomatoes topped off with cheeses—shredded Colby Jack, large curd cottage, and sprinkled parmesan. However, my experimental instinct is not satisfied. I wish to surprise my parents with something more. To the left end of the cupboard, a round, plastic cayenne pepper-filled container provides the answer. I am not experienced with cayenne pepper. It is always an optional topping at the pizzerias or the subject of a double dare. But in any case, when I try some with my pizza, I find it quite mild. At that moment in the kitchen, I forget that the containers at the pizzerias have small openings only allowing modest amounts of cayenne flakes. I give the cayenne pepper-filled container a flick, and a shower of cayenne flakes fall into the salad. The container ends up almost half empty. My salad is now complete, but little do I know of the true surprise that awaits us.
When I think of a salad, the first thing that enters my mind is a sensation of freshness. Therefore, imagine the confused surprise that my parents feel after tasting my Mexican salad. What a disaster it is! The cayenne pepper’s intolerable heat brings all of us to experience the middle ring of Dante’s inferno. Burning tears escape our eyes, and our tongues plead for water. But at home, we do not waste. My salad is heavily and repeatedly washed and drained with hopes of liberating it from the devilish cayenne flakes. The meal seems to return to normal after many gulps of much-needed water, and the salad is once again served. The heat, the tears, and the gulps of water ensue again; the salad was lost, unrecoverable and now a meal for the trash can.
Simplicity won this battle of salad making. Not adding the cayenne pepper, or at least adding a simple amount, would have prevented this culinary disaster. The burning salad forced me to consider one aspect of simple cooking—to stop and not paint over an already finished work of art. But why live a life without surprises? The risks of complexity and toppings make eating salads a different experience every time. Therefore, the next time when salad-making presents the stimulating dilemmas of what spices to add or flavors to produce, simplicity may offer an easy and safe alternative, but it does so at the cost of imagination and the fun of experimenting.