Herby

When our daughter recently visited Turkey (the country, not the Butterball we roasted yesterday), she returned with a pierced nose and some interesting stories about salad.

Evidently the Turks like flavorful salads, but not because of calorie blowouts like bleu cheese dressing, fried onion sprinkles, or raisins.  Rather, Turkish salad greens are not lettuce or spinach, as we might expect, but fresh herbs.  Mint.  Cilantro.  Basil.  If dressed at all, these flagrant sinus openers get a few quick drops of olive oil and vinegar – that’s it.

Inspired by this kind of herbal boldness, I’ve been trying more herbs in my own salad concoctions. Yesterday I made an asparagus-corn salad featuring fresh basil, and a quinoa salad starring fresh cilantro, as sides for the otherwise sumptuous, gut-bomb dishes comprising The Big Meal. 

As I type this, I’m enjoying leftover quinoa salad in the company of our skinny “pencil” Christmas tree (I just decorated it today).  The cilantro, brimming with generous green goodness, insists its nutrient value is good, really good for me.  The tree, glowing with hundreds of tiny white lights, insists its visual ambiance is good, really good for me.  I’m just plain good…if also definitely herby. Not Herbie, mind you.  Herby.*

*adj. - Having the nature of, pertaining to, or covered with herbs or herbage.