The following poem is to be viewed as a nested dialogue between self and soul that often happens while in the throws of mundane activities. Each point of view is to be regarded as incomplete without the other and distinguished by the different typeface.
Balsamic Vinaigrette or Plotting Surrender
1/4 c. balsamic vinegar, I want it to be perfect, it doesn’t make sense 2 tsp dark brown sugar, optional*
1 Tbsp chopped garlic You know what you know, don’t kid yourself 1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper I didn’t say “I do” to this, I know I didn’t 3/4 cup olive oil
Beat the vinegar in a bowl with the optional sugar, garlic, salt and pepper until sugar and salt dissolves. I took pictures, but he deleted them, I had a journal, he threw it away, it’s all still there, in me.No one will believe me. Then beat in the oil by droplets, whisking constantly. (Or place all the ingredients in a screw-top jar and shake to combine.) The table is set for six, take a long look. He’s late, or is he coming at all. Taste and adjust the seasonings.
Toss a few tablespoons of the dressing with the salad mix and desired salad ingredients, top with blue cheese. It looks perfect in the bowl, I remember when a friend gave us this bowl for Christmas. *If using a good quality balsamic vinegar you should not need the sugar, but if using a lesser quality you might want the sugar to round out the dressing. I won’t call the kids in until he’s home. Call power company, delete call history. We are leaving. Serve immediately.