Olive Lust

My salads are a dismal excuse for food without olives, preferably black, pit-less ones. I never took a poll, but anyone who ever consumed my salads went right for the olives first. Several times I considered leaving them out, just to see what the reaction would be. But I backed off at the last moment. I can't afford to lose any more friends over condiment conflicts. When I insisted on bacon bits as an ingredient, four once close buddies got up and left. I had to beg their forgiveness, offering to double the crouton ratio.
I go by instinct and my instinct declares nine olives per bowl is the limit. You don't want the olives to overwhelm the celery. Celery has a tendency to sulk and grow limp, which isn't as bad as cucumbers, which rot at a stunning pace when left abandoned. Tomatoes have the right attitude toward olives--benign indifference. Tomatoes are the cats of the produce world, remaining above it all.
Dressings seem to avoid olives, settling over lettuce, almost caressing its chunks. I can't say for sure if olives are standoffish. It's not like they clump together. Each individual one stakes out its own position and challenges the feeder to ignore it. Picking up an olive with your fingers doesn't bother me as long as one quickly consumes it. Fondling your olive around others shows disrespect for the food staple and other diners.
One last word about those disturbing hosts who sprinkle nuts into their salads. Nuts cannot be eaten with any other food, not even Cheese Doodles. Nuts impart wisdom. Nuts tell you to embrace some sort of olive lifestyle. Without nuts, we'd all be obsessed with pickles. If the Greeks had made the transition from pickles to nuts they wouldn't be in such a horrible financial crater.