Years ago (like 16 years) when I was pregnant with my daughter we went to Glorioso’s, picked up some squid/octopus salad. Little octopus, full or just legs and bodies, swimming in an pool of oil and vinegar. The salad and some feta cheese. I was craving it. We sat in the car over our feast, talking and eating. Bite of salad, bite of cheese. Indulgence. However, being that I was pregnant, what was wonderful once is not always wonderful the next time, and so, after a long love-affair with the seafood salad, my taste changed and I can no longer dive into a tub of it and eat my way out.

Though I know it is deliciously chewy fun, my tummy turns a bit from the smell. I can tolerate one leg. Or a leg and some squid. But the oil on my fingers is the worst. The smell and texture combined do me in. I watch the kids as they eat with zeal, oil on their lips and chins, the smell of salad in the air. And my tummy gurgles slightly. Instead I snack on yummy cheeses and meats, waiting for the moment when the salad is finished and I can toss the container, de-oil the table and get rid of all evidence of salad.