Make my salad great again!
If real-estate swindler Donald J Trump can ponder the question “where did his country go,” then I, Matthew J Najmowicz, ask the similar question: Where did my salad go? Allow me to explain.
I worked at Wendy’s for a brief time in 1999-2000 and on break I used to get the Deluxe Garden Salad. Don’t roll your eyes at me. I honestly ordered that salad all the time with great anticipation and satisfaction. It was a plastic container of lettuce, cucumbers, broccoli, onion, cabbage shavings, a modest amount of “cheese” and croutons that came in a vacuum-sealed pouch. Some people will read this and say to themselves “What a very simple and unassuming salad.” Millennials would call that salad basic.
It was satisfying, y’all. And I ate it with no dressing. To use an analogy — I would go into that salad bareback with no lube. To me, salad dressing ruins the salad experience.
Yes, ladies, I’m available. Call me.
During the most recent time I went into a Wendy’s and looked at their menu, there was a plethora of salads that if I were to describe their ingredients, would anyone honestly call them a salad?
A Cobb salad is basically a bunch of bacon with a tiny bit of lettuce under it. A Taco Salad is bad tortilla chips with a cup of chili, cheese and some lettuce. A Chicken Caesar salad….oh you get my point.
Why doesn’t anyone just put a Quarter Pounder with cheese on a single carrot and call it a salad?
At one time, the geniuses at McDonald’s came out with those salads that you would shake in a plastic cup. That’s right — a salad in a plastic soda cup that you’re supposed to shake like a can of spray paint. The subtle irony is that eating one of those salads would make your bowel movement come out like spray paint. If you ever wanted a stucco finish for the bottom of your toilet bowl, that was your opportunity.
Why does America like to bullshit itself so much? Why are we so fascinated with salads with enchiladas on them? The enchilada salad is basically someone’s attempt to wave a white flag at life. It’s a form of gastric torture that leaves your stomach utterly confused. Your stomach wonders, “Is there more salad coming or are we eating more cheese with a tortilla wrap?” Then your rectum reminds your stomach that it has the unpleasantry of passing all of this culinary dysphoria.
Salad dressing, bacon bits, fried chicken, steak, fish, shrimp — dude, if you really don’t want to eat a salad then just eat the bacon. There’s no shame in a slab of bacon, and I would never tell someone what they should or should not eat. I am not a fat shamer, I merely suggest that if a salad is making you that unhappy then perhaps we shouldn’t punish our salad with all the accoutrement. This isn’t the Red Room of Pain from “50 Shades of Grey.” It’s a salad. You want a hamburger, then get your swerve on.
Don’t whip a cucumber into submission and give your salad a Hot Cosby. Try the garden salad.