There she laid in her unsavory state... just waiting for an invitation to be free from her own inhibitions. She's all alone, inside such a pristine white bowl, longing for companion. With delicate hands, she was picked from her vine at such a perfect ripe age. Soon she will be draped with chiffonade of basil and arils of pomegranate only to be devoured by salivating embouchement.

Her plump juicy redness is finally laid on the wooden board where she is segmented into wedges, and gingerly tossed back onto a bed of wild mixed greens. She is then joined by the cucumber and they suddenly touch for the first time. Overcome by his rigidness and rough exterior, she becomes excited and she lets out some of her seeds. With her sultry look, he's sliced into half moons. In the midst of the mesclun, this young, sweet, and unblemished tomato, and her cucumber, toss and turn while they are doused with the creamy and tangy wetness of the vinaigrette. Their skins start to glisten - a picture perfect symbol of culinary seduction.

Not much longer they are joined by the pungency of cheesy Gorgonzola and the woody character of Crimini. The maturity of this amalgamation is the spice of life and I found it very satisfying. With every bite, I fall deeper in love. I have savored the splendor of her fruity flavor and I can truly say that she is unsavory no more.

I lay the fork in the bowl where the red tomato once was and I sit back in my chair. I reminisce what I had just experienced while her sweet taste still lingers on my tongue. In silence, I reached for the book that rested on the corner of my table.  I gazed at the cover... Fifty shades of ...