In the chipped blue bowl there are snippets of lettuce brown at the edges with an oysterish slime. Tough tomato wedges the color of sun-bleached orange plastic. Deliquescent cucumber slices. Carrot shreds curled and dry as the armpit hair of a circus strongman. Dressing the consistency of industrial sludge.
We’re hungry but reluctant and in the end don’t bother taking a bite. On the restaurant’s comment card we write: “The salad you served was rancid, but the idea of your salad was delicious.”