Salad 90: Fireworks at High Tide Salad

His skin was brown like leather, his hair oily and straggly and dusted with sand, as though he had been a victim of shipwreck. He began each day before the sky's Great Metamorphosis of gray to green to blue; before the heat of the morning cooked out the calm cool of night and attracted gymnasium sounds of tourists.

They came with polo shirts and knee high socks, smelling of suntan lotion, smothered by mineral shade and cabana umbrellas. They wanted the feeling of home and the idea of beach, the TV version of life. The earlybirds who lived vigilantly, certain that somebody else would take the best spot if they didn't get it first, sometimes arrived in time to witness the man sculpting. He ignored them, mostly. He played aloof. They would never know how much he needed them, how he hid in the shade of the lifeguard post and watched their faces for reactions to his work.

The children were always the first to notice. Their little faces exploded in radiance at the sight of the giant alligator, or life-sized mermaid carved intricately out of sand. The young ones had lips painted with purple kool-aid and orange Popsicle, which opened and flowered into smiles. Their fathers, with fresh combed hair, parted crisply to the side, wearing beach shorts tied with drawstrings and walking in flip flops, lost themselves when they came upon his enormous beach tarantulas and hummingbirds. They simply stood, mouths gaping, silently wondering who and why. The women swooned. Contrary to the men, they seemed to get louder and louder as they closed in on the details of the sand creatures.

Every day, the ocean would come, and wash away the sharp edges of his fish. His mermaids would melt, his tarantula would return to the beach out of which it was born. He would watch as the tide climbed up the dry sand. It would begin with the toes of his carved princess who sat looking out over the waves as if searching for passing ships, or the nose of a giant diving dolphin. The water would lap up to the edge, and in that moment, the artist would surrender himself completely.

The next morning the artist simply moved down the shoreline and started fresh. Every day, he looked to the beach, trusting his foundation for wisdom.
"What forms would you use me for to create today?" he would say.
Always the beach would answer.

The dressing:
whisk together 4 Tbsp olive oil, 2 Tbsp white wine vinegar, 1 tsp Dijon mustard, salt, pepper, 1 clove minced garlic, a drizzle of lemon juice (add tarragon if you like).

The Salad: My purpose in making this salad was to treat each individual ingredient with respect to it's nature before bringing them all together to work as a group. Heat some water to boiling and blanch 1/2 bunch of asparagus for just a min or two. Drain and rinse with cold water. Heat another pot of water to boiling and blanch 8 quartered baby bella mushrooms (or crimini). Drain and rinse. Scatter some diced romaine tops onto a plate. No dressing is needed for the lettuce, because the dressing from the veggies on top will drain down. Now toss each ingredient individually in the dressing and place decoratively on the plate. 1/6 purple cabbage, 3/4 cup garbanzos, 3 diced carrots, 1/2 head fennel, mushrooms, asparagus. Top with 1/2 avocado drizzled with lemon juice.

Christina's vote: "this salad gave me a sense of identity"