Come on now. I know you love it too!
I was first introduced to iceberg at a young age.
For some reason that escapes me, I spent many summer days alongside our next door neighbor, an amazing grandmother and accomplished vodka/milk drinker. One lunchtime, exhausted at how cripplingly difficult I was, Lise threw some crispy iceberg leaves between two butter lathered pieces of ultra white bread.
The love affair was instant.
It continued as a secret love affair though. You can imagine that someone who hails from my culinary genes, I could not possibly be allowed to have iceberg lettuce at home! Iceberg is the white trash of lettuce in my oh-so french mother’s books.
Like star-crossed lovers, my lust for that crispiness grew and grew. 9
Sleepaway Camp was a wonderful respite from my iceberg separation- we had it everyday! Alas, I only went to camp 2 weeks a summer. The rest of time, it was ho-hum Boston for this little Frenchie
I recently planned to make pulled pork and while shopping for ingredients, a wave of nostalgia washed over me and I pounced on a head of Iceberg. Somewhat ashamed but oh-so excited about my long lost friend, I ran to the car and texted Bruno that I had bought Iceberg, like it was a news item worth reporting. Shockingly, I got no response. The payoff was huge: I chiffonaded it and used it as garnish; I wrapped the pulled pork with whole leaves; I even used it for a halloum “sandwich”.
I have bought a head of Iceberg every week since.
Alice Waters and your mesclun mix, yeah the one that gets all soggy and gross if you have it more than 30 minutes, EAT YOUR HEART OUT.
Iceberg. The Best Ever.
me a butter