Salad with apple and orange

First, imagining our whole pile of vegetables, we drizzle in olive oil to coat the whole visualized pile.

Then lemon juice to go with that. About 1/3 volume.

So that's it. 

To guild the already golden and to paint the lily we add mustard. An emulsifier. It mixes those two things. American mustard, not that fancified Yurpean mustard with French water and French white wine, no, this is American mustard with absolutely nothing pretentious. 

And a tiny bit of ginger.

And enough honey to balance the mustard. 

Salt and pepper.

     How did you get to be so ace at making salads?

I went to a friend of a friend's house for dinner. A hunter. He made the most careless salad I've ever seen. It had all kind of stuff in it. Loaded with interesting things. Things that did not go together traditionally. And that told me that pretty much anything goes.

I know that I affected at least two people at least one generation older than me. 

     Who?

My mother, who always made the same thing the same way. Everything cut exactly the same way. Then bottled dressing. One night she presented us each with a sharp, bright, colorful and thoughtful salad with her own dressing. I looked at her. She looked at me and she said, "You're rubbing off onto me, Kid." 

The other was Joe Bloxham. I went to a friend's house for dinner. I did not realize Joe was co-hosting. He presented a bright colorful happy imaginative salad with a bright dressing that included raspberry preserves. Joe said, "You thought I wasn't paying attention."

The old man had never made a salad dressing and now he is whipping them out sweetened with berry preserves.

How bold!

How simple.

Joe was eighty years old.