Saturday Night Salad...

Ah, the joys of an Indian take-away, as a Saturday night treat, have been taken away. Replaced by a healthy-eating regime. As commander-in-chief of this unilateral initiative, I thought tonight I would make a salad to put all other salads in the shade.
Hard cheese in his. Which is what I'd have said to him if he'd started to growl. Mozzarella in mine. Then as much crunch and colour as I could artistically heap on the plate. We munched companiably in as much silence as a crunchy salad would allow. I waited for the praise. It required a nudge.
"Could have done with a few pomegranate seeds and pine nuts,"he said bravely.
Where is he eating that kind of stuff, I want to know? When did Fish Finger Man become Pine nut and Pomegranate Man?  I was bothered.
I plonked down a fruit layered yoghurt in front of him with little less than my usual aplomb.
He looked at it, dismally.
"I don't suppose we could stick a Ferrero Rocher in the middle?"
Hmm, normality reigns.

The missing ingredient