Words: Ali Tufan Koc | Illustration: Martin Justesen
Show me what you eat with your best friend, and I’ll tell you what kind of friendship you have.
In this case, I’d like to introduce you to what true friendship tastes like to me. (This is the moment when the waitress serves a green salad to the reader. Bon appetit!)
I classify my friends by what I eat with them.
I don’t go to brunch with the friends I party with. That’s what friends with kids are for: brunch friends.
I never go for an after-work drink at that hottest-bar-in-town spot with a childhood buddy. That’s what buddy-from-the-networking-scene friends are for.
What we order also, somehow, defines our relationship.
Beside 243 mutual friends on Facebook (and ten times more in real life), my best friend and I have one common thing that has glued us together: our love for green salad.
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Before I go further, let’s agree on what we mean by green salad. To be clear: topped with some leftover veggies slices and soaked with heavy dressing, a pile of sad-looking green leaves is not a green salad. Nothing fruity (No apples, No peaches, No pears) and nothing crunchy (No seeds, No croutons, No cashews – sorry hipsters!) should be considered an ingredient in a green salad, either.
A Michelin star level green salad recipe is simple. Fresh cut cucumber and green onion slices, nice, thick and perfectly chopped green leaves (not red, not brown, just green, only green), half of a freshly squeezed lemon, a big pinch of high-quality sea salt. That’s all.
If you feel adventurous, feel free to add some fresh mint leaves, and maybe chopped heirloom tomatoes.
No soy sauce. No rice wine vinegar. No whatever that new infused and smoked dressing is. Only olive oil and lemon juice. The key is to find perfect harmony between these two contrasting tastes. The olive oil and lemon juice dressing should be simple, yet rich, refreshing, and well-balanced. Zesty, acidic, tasty, mouthwatering, and refreshing.
Using only simple ingredients in a simple way is hard. Being, living, and cooking simply is hard.
It’s underrated. You need to learn to be humble in the kitchen; let the simple ingredients speak, and make a huge impact with a delicate touch.
Wherever she and I meet and whatever we talk about, there is always a green salad on the table. There always has been. There always will be. It’s a taste that makes us feel secure, comfortable, and refreshed. And it should be served in a bowl large enough to be shared and small enough to fit a two-seater table. When it comes to other things, we have different preferences. She likes tomatoes, and I like potatoes. She wants spicier, and I want lighter. She loves to control things, and I love to let things flow. She wants to make sure things are stirred, salted, and chopped enough. After her dish is served, she adds her own touches: chopping green leaves a little bit more, adding a bit more sea salt. Having a simple green salad is like a cool breeze coming from the Mediterranean Sea. All green. Light. Fresh. Salty. Lemony. An effortless, simple, yet very rich taste. Just like a true friendship.