Deli Salad

What You’ll Need

  • 1 head iceberg lettuce
  • 1 head romaine lettuce
  • 2 tomatoes, cut into chunks
  • 6 (1-ounce) slices provolone cheese, cut into strips
  • 6 ounces Genoa salami, cut into strips
  • 1 (14-ounce) can hearts of palm, drained and cut
  • 1 (14-ounce) can artichoke hearts, drained and quartered
  • 1 (7-ounce) jar roasted red peppers, drained and cut into strips
  • 1 (5.75-ounce) can large pitted black olives, drained
  • 1 (16-ounce) jar peperoncini, drained
  • 2 1/2 cups prepared vinaigrette dressing

What to Do

  1. Wash and dry lettuce and tomatoes then cut into bite-sized pieces. Place in a very large mixing bowl with remaining ingredients except dressing; toss to mix well.
  2. Pour desired amount of dressing over salad; toss to coat. Serve immediately.

Icebox Salad

What You’ll Need

  • 2 cups mayonnaise
  • 1/2 cup sour cream
  • 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1 head iceberg lettuce, chopped
  • 2 red bell peppers, finely chopped
  • 1 onion, finely chopped
  • 1 (9-ounce) package frozen green peas, thawed and drained
  • 3 celery stalks, finely chopped
  • 2 cups (8 ounces) shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
  • 1 (3-ounce) container real bacon bits

What to Do

  1. In a medium bowl, combine mayonnaise, sour cream, and garlic powder; mix well.
  2. In a large glass bowl, layer half the lettuce, bell pepper, onion, peas, celery, mayonnaise mixture, and cheese. Repeat layers once more then top with bacon bits.
  3. Cover and chill at least 2 hours before serving. Toss just before serving.


  • Using a trifle dish or large glass bowl with straight sides allows us to see all the colorful layers of this salad.

The Grapes of Wrath in 1962By Chris Rosati

When I was about 10 years old, my family lived on an older road in Hellertown, Pennsylvania. Behind our home was a dead-end alley, and beyond that was a farmhouse with a large field.Our group of neighborhood kids-nine girls and three boys-must have looked like urchins to the old man living alone in the big farmhouse. We were constantly playing in the dirt and temporarily lose our shoes, to our parents’ chagrin.While we “hung out and stuff” in the quiet alley, we’d watch the man’s large rows of grapevines mature into fountains of desirable fruit.On one particularly hot summer day, watching wasn’t good enough. We threw our collective conscience to the wind and Snuck over to the grapevines, where we hurriedly broke some branches off ? but not quickly enough.A booming, deep voice came at us from out of the clear, blue sky, “Hey, what are you kids doing there in the grapevines? Get out of there right now!”We headed for hiding as fast as our feet could carry us, the girls huddling together to watch the sky for the face belonging to the giant voice.One of the girls finally said, “That was God! He knows we stole the grapes, and now we’re all going straight to hell!” In only a moment, we also realized that our parents most likely heard God’s loud voice, too, and hell took a backseat to our new fears.Finally, one of the boys, after scoping out the area and becoming annoyed with the “sissy girls,” said, “Nah! Look up at the back window of the farmhouse.” He pointed out a loudspeaker mounted on the windowsill and explained that the man who lived there was a signalman for the railroad that ran right past his house.We all breathed a sigh of relief, until we thought of our parents again. But apparently, our parents hadn’t heard the booming voice after all.The next day, the man from the farmhouse came to the alley with a paper bag and called out to us, “Hey, you kids, come over here!” We were all shivering a bit now, but we approached the man as a group.”Here’s some grapes for each of you,” the old man said. “Next time, ask me for grapes; don’t steal them.”He went on to explain that we could easily and permanently damage the vines. We voiced many repentances and thank-yous before the man returned home, leaving us to those wonderful gifts of nectar.We never helped ourselves to grapes again, nor did we ever muster the nerve to ask for more grapes. But every once in a while, the old man would call us over and hand us a bag full of the fruit, plenty for us all and then some. It’s one of the fondest memories from my childhood summers.


Don’t know what brought him to mind. I was doing the laundry and he just flew into my mind. I thoughtAgain about sending him a note or giving him a call. But that would beGoofy, I suppose. Guess he’d think I was pretty crazy. I’d thought aboutDoing that before, but always figured it was a goofy idea. He was my first friend. He lived next door to me back in the fifties when life was new andFresh and summer mornings woke up slowly, with my mom and his mom chattingAcross the fence below my bedroom window. He had a family that spannedGenerations — his oldest sister was only a year or two younger than myParents, he was a year and a half younger than I was. And he had a brotherAnd four other sisters in between, and many of those sisters played with usAnd took us for popsicles. Life was simple and grand. We spent lots of time on the swings in my yard. Eating purple grapesOn our vine and the green ones on his. Visiting his grandmother who livedOn the other side of the double home that was his. She always had HersheyBars for us and they were always in the refrigerator! And that’s the bestWay. Even now. You remember the things you did with first friends. Like openingUmbrellas in his living room and pretending we were camping. That was ourTent, and we always figured our parakeet was camping with us in that littleCage the umbrella has at the top! And the fish worm farms. What fun it was to dig deep holes andCollect the fish worms. I can only imagine how his mom felt about the factThat we then housed them in her basement. Needless to say, they neverLasted long there! But bless her heart, it wasn’t because SHE said get ridOf them… It was because fish worms don’t live very long in basements! I had a little blue car with pedals. He had a little red fire engine.We’d ride all the way to the other end of the street, over and over.Years later, a woman who lived at that end of the street reminisced aboutHearing us, parked in our little cars, discussing getting married some day. But that didn’t happen, of course. I went to school two years beforeHe did. We made friends of our own gender and our own grades. But I’dFollow the changing music choices coming from his bedroom across theSidewalks from mine, and sometimes we’d talk across those windows from eachOther. And summer nights every now and again, we’d sit in our back yardsAnd remember. I suppose we were young adults the last time that happened. And hisParents died, and mine moved away, and then so did he. And I moved 35Miles and a lifetime away from that town, and we lost touch. He neverMarried, and I don’t know what he did with his life. I married, divorced,Doted on my daughter and her family, and taught in an elementary school. And every now and then, I thought about contacting him. On Thursday, my dad told me. Paulie died. I thought of him last Tuesday. He was my first friend.