On appetites. Apologies to the salad girls.

Last meal for 2008
Last meal for 2008 (Photo credit: Sandy Austin)

I am not a salad girl. Apologies in advance to all the salad girls out there. You’ll have to drown your sorrows in some broccoli or some such.

I eat salad. I like salad. But I will never be the gal who goes to the nice restaurant and says, “I’ll have the salmon salad, please.” And walks away feeling any real satiation.

Give me a filet, medium rare. With mashed potatoes and some sautéed spinach. Oh, and a nice red. Preferably Zinfandel, Pinot or Syrah. Or a phenom pasta with crusty bread.

At a gathering of school moms last year, I looked down the table. That particular night, I had ordered a salad. So had about a dozen other women at the table. And the rest? You guessed it. Salmon.  Not a carb to be had at that table, even if your life depended on it.

Save one. There was one lone pizza caprese at the table. And one of my favorite people had ordered it.

No surprise.

Why did I like this mom so much? A hearty laugh. A look-you-in-the-eye and tell-it-like-it-is demeanor. Passion for life. For her kids’ well being. Someone who I’m sure would join you on the dance floor in a split second.

Does being a salad girl preclude you from my friendship? No. I’ll most likely still like to sit and chat with you over lunch or at the cocktail party.

But here’s where it gets pejorative (look away, salad girls, look away).

I best love those with a real appetite for life. And most of the time, I find that comes with an unabashed love of good food, great wine, a dance floor with moving bodies—I’ll stop there.

Do you picture a salad girl in a passionate embrace in the middle of a thunderstorm? Probably not.  She’d ruin her hair. Serving decadent homemade chocolate cake for dessert? No way.  Ruins the effects of the kale chips she eats all day. (True confession: I make kale chips. And they’re quite good. But, they don’t keep me from chocolate cake. Damn. But I digress.)

The most interesting people I know are not the ones that come with the tightest controls. They’re disciplined, successful and a bit driven—but they have mastered the art of letting loose. Of living life. Or maybe they’re born with that talent. Either way, seat me next to them at the next party.

Our seats will probably be empty, though. We’ll be on the dance floor.


20 Comments Add yours

  1. Dale says:

    I knew it! We would so enjoy ourselves over that pizza and sangiovese…

    1. candidkay says:

      Right?! We can still do that even when we’re little old ladies :-).

      1. Dale says:

        Darn tootin’! 😉

  2. gracecaputo1 says:

    LOVE this! What a great post!

    1. candidkay says:

      I take it you’re not primarily a salad girl? 🙂

      1. gracecaputo1 says:

        I am primarily a bacon and pasta girl! 🙂 Hahah!

  3. Definitely not a salad girl myself. 🙂

  4. To me, a salad comes WITH my meal, it is Not my meal. And, I always leave room for dessert. Sit next to me, anytime. We’ll laugh and have fun together.

  5. Gail says:

    I do like a good salad. But wine and dancing would out do it any day. It has been too long since there has been dancing.

    1. candidkay says:

      We can remedy that!

  6. I’m a salad girl but I feel no guilt whatsoever in indulging in the glass of red vino or the chocolate:)

    1. candidkay says:

      Then you’re a salad girl I’d like to sit next to at lunch:) Love the balance!

      1. …and at least you know your steak is safe around me! 🙂

  7. Joe Cardillo says:

    I suspect that most people would choose the fun stuff over a salad if there were no external or internalized social pressure. What’s the phrase, eat like no one’s watching? (hah)… Unfortunately in my case that means unrefined table manners, but that’s the cost of the gusto, I guess. =)

    1. candidkay says:

      If you can master gusto and table manners, Joe–your dance card will be full:) That’s a great combo . . .

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