you are what you eat

The other day while standing on grass the same shade as a head of Romaine, I discussed the finer points of salad bars with a friend around noon. What you put on your plate can say a lot about your personality. Say, shredded carrots, for instance. Not that we cracked the code for what each topping means, but it made for an interesting afternoon anecdote.

While piling my own platter I like to look across the way and see what chef-d'œuvre my fellow salad shopper is mixing up. I've never understood the pineapple/cottage cheese combo, or those who like their hard boiled eggs with a side of pink jell-o fluff. But, like art speaks to everyone differently, perhaps lettuce is a blank canvas for anything and everything.

It's a rare occasion when I switch up what I take back with me to the table. Once I watched a guy on the opposite side of the salad bar make the exact same salad I did. Down to the sunflower seed garnish a-top a mound of bean spouts. I resisted the urge to follow him to his booth, ask his astrological sign, if he color-codes his bookcase, or how badly it bugs him when people don't clear the remaining time on the microwave.