The Fancy Dinner Salad: My Lifelong Crusade
I grew up as a golf caddie and quickly learned that if you carry the bag long enough, keep your mouth shut, and call everyone sir, eventually you end up in rooms you were never explicitly invited into. Country clubs. Banquet halls. Luncheons. Awards dinners. Galas.
Later came college leadership roles, scholarship dinners, law school events, political receptions, nonprofit fundraisers the full circuit.
I know how lucky I am to have been in those rooms. I don’t take it lightly, I am indeed very blessed. Unfortunately, privilege does not protect you from the food.
Because no matter the venue, the budget, or the reason for gathering, there is always that salad.
It follows me everywhere I go. Not imposter syndrome. Not awkward small talk. Not the silent judgment from people thinking, “How did that guy get invited to this too?”
That salad.
You know the one.
Mixed greens. Crumbled white cheese. A handful of walnuts or pecans. One or two strawberries, sliced just thin enough to look intentional. Sometimes other fruits oranges, blueberries, maybe even mango for no reason. Occasionally, a dry, under seasoned chicken breast tossed on top like an afterthought. And always a dressing that swings somewhere between aggressively sweet and aggressively vinegary.
(All photos from my 2025 camera roll, by the way.)
Different rooms. Different awards. Different honorees.
Same salad.
The salad is the centerpiece of pre-meal suffering. It is the edible equivalent of networking small talk: technically fine, deeply unsatisfying, and somehow unavoidable.
Now, I should be upfront: I don’t love salad. I respect it, but I definitely don’t love it.
A steakhouse Caesar? Respectable. Reliable. Honest.
A wedge with blue cheese, red onion, and bacon? Why not?
And the undeniable titan of all salads: the Olive Garden salad, served with a hot breadstick, the gold standard.
But this salad? This salad exists to check a box. It’s not meant to be enjoyed. It’s meant to be endured.
Over the years I started noticing the patterns. Swap strawberries for blueberries. Walnuts for pecans. Pink candy dressing for vinaigrette. Sometimes quinoa shows up, which no one asked for and no one eats. Different events, same concept. Just… different fonts.
So I did some digging. Some light investigative journalism. Some Googling. Talked to our events folks at work. Drew a few of my own conclusions. Here’s what I came up with as to why this salad exists:
Cheap. Mixed greens are cheap. Cheese lasts forever. Fruit looks expensive but isn’t. Nuts make it feel “artisanal.” Easy to make for a large crowd without thinking.
Safe. No spice. No flavor. No risk. Nobody loves it. Nobody hates it enough to complain. That seems to be the goal.
Photogenic. Put it on an event recap or a social post, and suddenly the whole thing looks fancy. There’s a parent out there right now watching their kid’s Instagram story thinking, “Look, my son is doing big things. He goes to events where they put strawberries on the salad.”
Easy. One prep. One system. One inventory. Completely mindless.
Here’s the problem: We bring people together for important reasons celebration, recognition, public service, community and then we serve them food that feels like a contractual obligation rather than an act of hospitality. Food that says: “We tried, but not that hard. You’re important, but we assume you have no taste.”
Food communicates values. This salad says: “We did the minimum.”
It’s not disrespectful. It’s just… uninspired.
I declared war on this salad in my early twenties and have been quietly building a base of anyone who would listen: we deserve better. I started predicting what would be served before I even sat down. Calling shots at the table:
“Watch. Strawberries.”
Five minutes later: Boom… strawberries.
I take pictures of these salads, send them to my friends. They know about my quest to eradicate the world of The Fancy Dinner Salad. It has almost became a game. A game I have never won.
This salad survives because it is safe. And I suppose if you are planning events to feed hundreds of people safety is your friend.
I’d much rather be served something people actually want to eat and I think event planners should really consider serving some of these instead. Here are my recommendations:
A proper Caesar – Parmesan, croutons, romaine, and dressing. Universally beloved.
Chips and salsa – Throw some queso and guacamole on the table too. Instant mood boost. Gets people talking, laughing, in the mood to drink. Everyone’s happy.
Charcuterie boards – Meat, cheese, jams, nuts. People graze. People talk. People feel fancy. Always a winner.
More bread and butter – Normal amount, then double it. Simple. Satisfying. Non-controversial.
Or… skip the salad entirely. Nobody has ever left a dinner saying, “That mixed greens course changed my life.” Seriously, think about it. Skip it. Go big. Feed your people something they’ll actually enjoy.
This is not about being ungrateful. I’m grateful for the rooms I’ve been in, the opportunities I’ve had, the conversations, the work. I firmly believe we’re owed more than a salad that tastes like “we tried, kind of.”
And if you’re planning a fancy dinner? Do yourself a favor and retire the salad. Give your guests something worth actually eating. History and your attendees will thank you.