225BatonRouge.com

Food writers are guilty of lots of things. Overeating is one. Wearing out adjectives is another. Take the word “fresh.” How many times have you heard this sort of thing: farm-fresh eggs, fresh seasonal produce, fresh straight-from-the-Gulf seafood or fresh artisan bread.

But we’re not alone in that poor word’s abuse. Editors want fresh content. Interior designers arrange fresh looks. Marketers promote fresh ideas. Politicians solve problems with fresh approaches. And so on.

So I’m hesitant to use the word, even when it’s called for—as in the case of Fresh (what else?), the impressive portable salad shop inside downtown’s Main Street Market.

“I have a food crush on a spinach salad down there,” said my editor. “Go check it out.” He uttered a sound akin to Homer Simpson around doughnuts and produced a wrinkled frequent diners’ punch card. It had lots of holes.

I’ve long been a fan of the indoor Main Street Market, but I’m there more often on weekends when the small, narrow mini-mall combines with the Red Stick Farmers Market outside. I was glad to return.

Fresh is the market’s newest eatery, having morphed from its former life as the Southwest-oriented Rocket Fajitas. Both were the concepts of restaurateur Pat Fellows, whose food ventures over the years have admirably pushed the local culinary envelope. He’s worked as a personal chef, and he co-founded The Supper Studio on Perkins Road, where consumers assemble meals onsite and take them home to cook later. A triathlete, Fellows has tried to keep convenience and health at the fore, encouraging proper portions and unprocessed ingredients.

On my first visit to Fresh, the line sprawled long enough for me to consider bolting, but darned if it didn’t move so quickly that I suddenly felt the panic of a virgin customer. Ordering is by no means rocket science, but as with all new routines, it takes a minute of training.

In short, you tell the very hip people behind the counter what salad you’d like and watch as they toss its particular ingredients. Seven set menu items can be modified or enhanced by grilled chicken or shrimp. You can also confect your own “freestyle” from the nice-looking lineup of greens, “goodies,” cheeses and dressings.

I watched as my Brickhouse came together. Into an aluminum bowl went a combination of romaine and mixed greens, followed by that salad’s prescribed goodies: bite-sized pieces of grilled asparagus, edamame, thin chunks of red bell pepper, carrot slivers, grape tomatoes, grated Parmesan and several squirts of Brickhouse dressing ($5).

Restauranteur and triathlete Pat Fellows pushes the envelope on local healthy eating.

Everything was tossed with large tongs and loaded into my delivery device of choice, an enormous whole-wheat wrap. You can also have a straight-up salad, large or small, served in a next-generation take-out carton. While I waited, tunes by the Rolling Stones and Drivin’n’Cryin’ blared pleasantly. Who knew green stuff could make you feel so with it?

I found a table by my lonesome in the Market commons and commenced to people-watching and glancing at headlines. It’s a great place for solo dining. Then, I peeled back the foil on my wrap and sank my teeth into the fat bundle.

It surprised me how much flavor was packed inside. I stumbled upon round, crunchy edamame in one bite, felt the sweet pop of a grape tomato in another, and came across the meaty smokiness of grilled asparagus in a third, all with a backdrop of crunchy greens and spicy, creamy mustard dressing. It really was delicious.

And hearty. I could have stopped two-thirds of the way through, but I kept on. Anyway, gorging is unfairly maligned. The wrap’s only failing is that it gets messy toward the end, when gravity forces dressing to the bottom and the occasional leak happens. Most people get this and remember to eat over the table. I sported some of that stellar Brickhouse dressing on my black skirt for the rest of the afternoon.

A few days later, I found myself fantasizing about the Brickhouse, and I returned to Fresh. This time, I forced myself to order something different.

“Mmmm. That looks good,” said the power-suited woman behind me. “Which one is that?”

“The Thai with grilled chicken,” I said. “Which one are you having?”

“The Mediterranean,” she said. “I always get that one. I love the pine nuts and artichoke hearts.”

As we watched Fellows’ crew assembling our salads, she commented about how nice it was to grab a salad on the run that didn’t taste like a plastic container. I had to agree.

Behind the counter, a burly, pleasant guy wearing an official Fresh “CHOMP CHOMP” shirt compiled my Thai, throwing in chunks of grill-marked chicken, mixed greens, slivers of carrot, red bells, cucumber slices, snow peas, peanuts and sprigs of cilantro. Spicy peanut dressing went on top. This time I ordered it in salad form, and he ladled it into a hefty, sleek to-go carton ($6.75).

Here was another winner. Each bite featured something different: the backyard smokiness of tender grilled chicken, the sinewy crunch of snow peas, the cool blast of cilantro and the sweet earthiness of peanuts. Amid the happy groaning, I realized something else. It’s awfully easy to eat salad on the fly when it’s in a cardboard take-out container. I don’t know why people don’t do it more often.

So I did exactly that, returning frequently over several days to come. And while I’m not endorsing this idea, I even parked a small BLT salad from Fresh in my car drink holder and ate the thing while driving. This particular Fresh selection is perfect for the salad-reluctant. Ranch dressing tops crunchy romaine, smoked bacon bits, grape tomatoes, Jack cheese, carrots and croutons. Compared to the others, I found it overly rich, but I liked its retro vibe ($3.75).

Fresh also offers a crunchy, savory Caesar with red onions and tomatoes; a spinach with walnuts, dried cranberries, crumbled bleu cheese and a sweet Balsamic vinaigrette; and the Rocket, an ode to the spot’s Southwestern past with roasted corn, red bell peppers, shredded Jack, grape tomatoes and chipotle ranch dressing. The freestyle salad allows you to mix and match and sample other dressings like honey-lime or bleu cheese vinaigrettes. Note: you can ask for less dressing, and sometimes you should.

But that’s a small point. These salads are indeed crush-worthy.

And fresh.