Once I got lost in a grocery store. I remember circling the produce section three times, then wandering the aisles searching high and low as my anxiety began to build, my senses to sharpen. A memory hides within me of a guileless return to the produce section, my soul still hopelessly misplaced under the glow of fluorescent tube lighting. I paced back and forth between the two cheese displays, perplexed and exhausted. A third lap to the produce section was accompanied by only the dream that some loving soul would reach out and save me from my inevitable fate.

Unfortunately, no one wants to help a 26-year-old who’s lost in a grocery store.

The grocery store is an impossible maze, that, when combined with my lack of proper grocery list planning, creates a shopping process more complicated and frustrating than the bipartisan presidential nomination process.

I don’t think I’m an incompetent human being. In fact, when it comes to directions I’m pretty damn competent. Blindfold me and take me anywhere within 30 miles of this exact location without a map and I can find my way home. I can tell you which direction is north at any given moment. I can even explain to you the numbering system that dictates the Dwight D. Eisenhower National System of Interstate and Defense Highways (evens run east-west, odds run north-south, radials have three digits with an even first number, and spurs have three digits with an odd first number—study up and never get lost again.) What I can’t tell you is whether ramen noodles are in the Asian section or soup section.

What was particularly frustrating about that trip to the market was the recipe’s demands for fresh ingredients. The Food Lab insists that in order to make Tomato and Mozzarella Salad (Page 791) with Sharp Balsamic-Soy Vinaigrette (Page 790) that really pops, fresh ingredients are the absolute key. This is a problem when shopping for tomatoes in early March.

I found the tomatoes right away. They’re pretty easy to spot because they look like clown noses; not like eggplants which look like clown penises. I was unable to determine tomato freshness, and since they’re out of season it seemed like a moot point anyway, so I just went with the ones that looked the most like Donald Trump’s face—red and ready to pop.

Next I circled the produce section four times because I couldn’t decide if basil was produce or not. I picked apart the green parsley, romaine, arugula and spinach section looking for basil, because basil is green. When I run the world, grocery stores will be sorted by color, because the current system just isn’t working for me.

I never found any fresh basil, because they don’t carry fresh basil. I’m 0-for-2 on fresh ingredients, the most important factor in this recipe. I ended up finding some shredded basil in a little plastic tub. With how much pre-packaged basil costs per ounce, it reminds me strongly of another shredded green herb that comes wrapped in plastic.

Then it was time for the mozzarella di bufala, which is made from water buffalo milk. I gave up on finding something made from water buffalo milk almost immediately. I opted for mozzarella in a bag. Make it 0-for-3 on freshness.

The grocery store had defeated me. I’d been there 30 minutes and had absolutely nothing that I actually needed to complete the recipe according to the book. So I just decided to escape the labyrinthine nightmare with hopes that I had the rest of the ingredients at home already.  I bought a meat stick in the checkout lane to make myself feel better about giving up. It worked. I wish my dad would have given me a meat stick snack when I quit basketball in seventh grade. All I got was a long conversation about commitment.

The tomatoes need to salt and the onions need to soak for awhile, so I start there. The chopping goes surprisingly well with both the onions and tomatoes. The onions get a nice cold bath to think about what they’ve done, and the tomatoes get covered in enough salt to destroy Carthage for a thousand years.

Since I’ve got time now, I dive in on the vinaigrette. I feel pretty confident. All I have to do is mix everything together. There’s no chopping or cooking. What could possibly go wrong?

 

I’m not mad at you, like my gesture would reflect, but I’m mad at myself. Apparently using a parmesan grater to grate shallots was a bad idea. After I’ve bled enough to star in a civil war film, I get properly bandaged up. With a little luck I managed to keep the blood out of the vinaigrette, which is good because I don’t feel like making Balsamic-Soy-Zika Vinaigrette.

I also added a tablespoon of salt instead of a teaspoon. That shouldn’t be a problem right?

It is time to start the salad, which is simple. Chop up the mozzarella, add olive oil to the vinaigrette and mix everything together. Place on plate and take pretty picture.

I feel like I’ve earned this salad. A hellish journey through the underworld of the grocery store, and a bloody affair with a cheese grater that puts a Quentin Tarantino film to shame have led me to this place. A place with a damn salad on my plate. Woo. I don’t even like salad that much.

But damn, do I like this. It’s a little salty. Ok, it’s salty enough to turn me into a piece of human beef jerky. Yet the combination of all of these flavors somehow works, even with March tomatoes, non-water-buffalo cheese and plastic-wrapped basil. It’s a salty, vinegary salad of not-fresh goodness, and it’s actually very simple to make and worth the effort.

Maybe not worth getting lost and chopping your finger off, but definitely worth the effort.

Recipe: 806/1000

Did I Do the Dishes? No