When I was a teenager salad dressing was the enemy.
Sure I knew salads were the best choice for losing weight. But dressing, that evil temptress, tried her best to undo all the pain and suffering I just knew was necessary to get the body I wanted.
I remember once getting into an argument with my dad (the poor man had endured years of my refusing even a drop of fat on anything I ate).
He had made a substantial (and delicious) Cobb salad for dinner, and was offering me a bottle of low-fat ranch dressing to top it off.
I self-righteously retorted, “Salad dressing defeats the purpose of eating a salad.”
“No it doesn’t,” he explained with exasperation. “The purpose of eating a salad is to get your vegetables and leafy greens in for the day.”
Clearly we were speaking different languages.
I ignored his offering and forced down an enormous bowl of lettuce, egg whites, and non-fat ham. My dad took his salad and his dressing, and we went our separate ways.
In retrospect, neither of us were eating particularly healthfully or particularly unhealthfully. Sure we were eating salad, but we were also both observing the insane nutritional recommendations of the time to different degrees. Seriously, WTF is…