I had an insatiable, desperate, palpable craving for a fresh, crisp salad. One with a vegetable medley creating a rainbow of colors. One where there would practically be fresh dew perched photogenically on the corner of each piece of lettuce. The kind of salad where every bite makes a crunch or a snap- audible proof that everything was just picked, just washed, just chopped. A salad as though sunshine and health just had a party in my mouth and the feeling when it was all over that maybe, just maybe, I could live to 100 and beyond. And run a marathon this afternoon.
That’s the kind of salad I wanted. Needed. In England. And so I hurled myself in single-minded obsession all over the neighborhood in a hunt for the freshest, healthiest, crispest, most gorgeous superfood-laden salad I could find. In England.
God Save the Queen.