Tag Archives: salad

2040. Erica’s flower salad

Erica was always one to surprise, so it was not unusual when her latest dinner party began with a salad made entirely of flower petals.

“It’s so pretty!” declared Erin.

“You’ve certainly exceeded all expectations this time,” said Eugene.

“When one dines at one of your dinners, “said Emile, “we can always expect to be surprised.”

Every guest, though daring, was a little tentative.

“Delicious!” expounded Evelyn stuffing a gladioli petal into her mouth. One suspected she made her declaration even before her taste buds had time to assimilate the mouth’s contents.

“Oh Erica! The mayonnaise!” glowed Emile. “Perfection!”

“Quite frankly,” said Savannah pushing her plate away, “I’m not a cow. I don’t eat everything I get put in front of me, and I couldn’t possibly stomach having to eat flowers. I have evolved a little further than being a muck-raking ruminant.”

Savannah was Emile’s partner. She was the only one at the table who (coincidentally) had a name that didn’t start with the letter E. It was only because of Erica’s largesse that Savannah was invited at all. No one liked her, not even Emile. Their relationship was one of convenience – whatever that meant. No one cared to ask.

“I don’t eat crap,” scorned Savanah. “I won’t touch this pile of disguised weeds.”

It was a pity because Erica had gone to considerable trouble to lace Savannah’s salad flowers with Poison Oak.

765. Psyllids in the salad


Reggie had heard that the garden products company he worked for were setting up a “plant” overseas. It was a rumour, mind you. Reggie didn’t like to ask – it was none of his business – but he and his wife, Maggie, were keen to be given the experience. Overseas!

And then Reggie and Maggie were invited to the boss’s place for dinner. Was this to be it? Would the boss perhaps venture into a how-would-you-like-to-be-posted-overseas conversation?

The meal began with a salad, and Reggie could see psyllids crawling in it: tiny insects that sap tomatoes and potatoes and broad beans and the like of their strength. The plants wilt.

Reggie tried to ignore the bugs. He tried to eat the salad as if it wasn’t infested. It wouldn’t kill him.

“Are you keen gardeners yourselves?” he asked, between mouthfuls of psyllid, tomato and thousand islands dressing.

“Not really,” said the boss, “although we did grow ourselves what you’re eating now.”

“Delicious,” said Reggie.

The evening ended. No mention was made of overseas.

“That’s them out of the equation,” said the boss to his wife. “He didn’t even notice the psyllids in his salad. Let alone the worms in the apple pie.”

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