breakfast salad, chicken, turkey, cranberry dressing


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New American Breakfast, fifth in a series, which you might notice bears a striking resemblance to lunch. It contains wheat grain in the form of two small 30% of whole wheat sourdough croutons. Because what is a salad without croutons, huh? Less crunchy, that's what. And what is bread if not sourdough, huh? Less interesting, that's what. And what is sourdough if not whole wheat? Well. I do not know what to say. I tire of all these insipid crouton-related questions!

This salad uses the frozen pieces of chicken and turkey roasted earlier, and I think it's the chicken that is the most interesting. The chicken which was raised to be a roaster is more tasty than the turkey which should have been raised to be older. It was a small turkey and that is bad as far as turkeys go, so I've learned, because it means they were too young for market. No flavor. But I tell you, this stuff is going fast, still frozen straight out of the freezer with no prep to mention so it is in no way actually bad. And when it happens that this combination is all gone, which will be soon, I'm going straight out there and get two more chickens just like this one and do this again without the turkey next time and see how great that is.

It also has that wonderful lettuce that I enjoy so much, all kinds of varieties of tender baby heads from which to choose, beefsteak tomatoes, and a nice perfectly ripe avocado along with a tart Granny Smith apple cut into chunks.

The dressing is similar to raspberry vinaigrette in that raspberry vinegar is used, but instead of including raspberry jam like you're supposed to do, that cranberry mixture prepared earlier was used instead, because it was there, and because I love it, and because of the turkey and the chicken, and because I also like a good dare, even if its only a dare to myself.

I would be proud to put this on the menu if I ran a restaurant, which I do not, and pleased to serve it to guests in which case I would include chunks of goat cheese to kick up the extravagance factor and to show off my salad-making chops, my casual cavalier ├ęclat that is so impressive. And then sit there and act all dull and demure like, "Wut?" As if I could not hold back these creative impulses if I tried.


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