This afternoon, on a lovely relaxing and entirely non-patriotic 4th of July, we offered Baby A some hard boiled eggs for lunch. She seemed intrigued, but took one mouthful, twisted her little face into the ‘what are you trying to do to me?’ expression, spat it out and proclaimed “I don’t like it”. We couldn’t blame her really, and gave her something else. So imagine my delight and surprise when I read through the recipe for Salad Capricciosa and discovered that egg was nowhere to be found. I assumed because the meal is a variation on the egg-addled pizza of yesterday, that the egg would once again rear it’s shiny little head. But apparently not; hurray.
So, this salad was much better than we anticipated. The dressing is pesto based, with olive oil, lemon juice and zest, so we were predisposed to like it. Romaine hearts, cherry tomatoes, red onion, parsley, basil, artichoke hearts, marinated mushrooms, mozzarella and peas were tossed together in the dressing and topped with strips of prosciutto. The salad is seasonaly perfect, in as much as hot July days should feature salad not soup, in an ideal world. It has a good balance of flavours, textures and colour, and the dressing complements the ingredients extremely well. The marinated mushrooms seemed a little strange at first- like using tinned mushrooms rather than fresh- but with the artichoke hearts they provided a welcome change of pace. I have to say that I enjoyed this salad more than any in recent memory, so was very happy all in all.
Tomorrow we will be having 30-Minute Chicken Under a Brick. We couldn’t find any chicken breasts with the skin and bones intact, so will probably be using some other chicken body parts that we have languishing in the freezer. We are trying to do a clear out so that we don’t have to move odd bits of meat to the new house. It seems we have a disproportionately huge amount of sausage there left over from the days of buying in bulk. Hopefully at the new place we’ll use the grill (here on the porch of our condo it is too much of a fire hazard, although we may have risked it in our child-free days) and get through the sausages before winter. We drive past our new house in a slightly stalkerish fashion pretty regularly to get Baby A used to the idea and get our own heads around the notion of moving. Somewhere along the line, the wee one has associated the words “new house” and “play in the garden” with the idea that she will find copious amounts of new toys in there. She told a woman in the book shop today “new house. Toys” a number of times. Interesting, but not so much as when she announced to me this afternoon “new house. Baby dinosaur”. I can’t wait.