Spinach salad with chicken breast and croutons

It's Sunday afternoon, and I haven't had lunch yet. I start with a bunch of spinach. It's always nice to have some leafy greens in the fridge if you want to fix a hearty salad or a side with veggies anytime, even though it comes with the peril of tossing away sad and wilted products if you aren't agile enough with them throughout the week.

I submerged the leaves with water and vinegar before I felt too lazy to wash the vegetables. You can't have a salad without greens.

I roasted a whole chicken a few days ago. It was a first for me; it didn't turn out as golden and crispy as a rotisserie chicken, but what did you expect? It wasn't roasted on a rotisserie, after all. The chicken carcass was ravaged, and the breast was the only part remaining. I separated them carefully, put the remaining bones and final chicken strips with a glass of water in a pot, and placed the chicken breasts in a steamer basket in the pot. I thought steaming the chicken breast indirectly would prevent the drying; it worked well enough. A salad without some protein is a side dish, not a meal.

The air fryer announced it was done. I warmed it to 200°c, and it was time to fry a few toasts to make croutons. I sprayed the pieces generously with olive oil and shoved the basket inside. Off they go, browning and crisping. A satisfying salad needs its crunchy companion.

The chicken looked warm enough; I removed it from the heat and cut it into long strips and crosswise cubes. It looked like it lacked something, so I remembered our unwritten rule of thumb: If you will not add saffron to a meat or stew, add some turmeric. There you go, family, friends, and respected ancestors, some turmeric to jazz it up quick and sharp.

Air fryer beeped once again, I turned the breads and bounced back to my workstation to mix a dressing to bring everything together. Jar mayonnaise, yogurt, fresh lemon, honey, salt, and pepper on the counter, mixed, juiced, dribbled, tasted, adjusted, savored, mixed one more time, and set aside. The dressing is the glue, the peace offering between these unrelated ingredients, the reason your mind and body settles with a salad for a meal, don't overlook it.

Everything went smoothly and harmoniously. I even had time to conduct another undertone to accompany the alienated honey: an apple. I washed and dried it and put it on the cutting board. Two strikes in a cross, make some strips, and then into cubes. I left it to the last to have it crisp and fresh. An extraordinary salad calls for a disrupting, opposite taste or texture.

The air fryer upset the Sunday quiet for the last time. I removed the toast pieces from the cutting board and followed the day's salad trend: bite-sized cubes.

At last, the entire orchestra was ready to sit together. I chose a large container; there was no way I was going to finish this salad in one go. Down went a layer of spinach, topped with turmeric-coated chicken and apple cubes, sprinkled with some croutons, and one more time and once more until everything was stacked and ready to play a happy tune. All I had to do was grab a serving, drizzle some of the dressing, and let them roll.