Out of a responsibility to get Ferdinand to eat more than cereal and milk I made turkey meatballs last night. Ferd doesn’t love turkey meatballs, but he doesn’t hate them, and with a side of mashed potatoes (loves them) and a sliced up apple (loves it), he’ll finish thte plate. I feel about the same about a turkey meatball as a I would about a man who sat next to me, smelled pretty good, a little cute, and not that interesting. Nothing that would make you get up from your seat if you were tired, but why stay? I stared at the meatballs and mashed left in the pan. Having meatballs and mashed with nothing else, you might as well eat off a styrofoam tray. I fried some onions in butter and added some chopped flat leaf parsley, and used them as a gravy. It wasn’t enough. I took a bite from Ferd’s apple core. AH HA!!! What I needed next to my dinner to lift it into the land of the living and twitching was a salad with color and bite. I pulled out dark green and purple baby romaine from the fridge, sliced up a New York State Empire into thin wedges, grated a sharp cheddar, diced a bit of shallot, toasted a few walnuts in a frying pan and tossed it all together with my beautiful olive oil, and a pinch of kosher salt. Meatballs made it back into my little black book.