My Tuna Pasta Salad

My humble contribution to the universe of pasta salads. I devised it in college, and it’s had real longevity among my go-to dishes. It’s tasty, filling, relatively healthy, and it makes a can of tuna go a long, long way.

As with other dishes of this nature, relative quantities are up to you. I’ve never codified it with exact quantities. I adjust the mayonnaise dressing as I go.

Serving: Serve it on a lettuce leaf, or on a bed of shredded lettuce, mixed spring greens, or alfalfa sprouts. Triscuits are a nice accompaniment. You’ll probably eat the last portion right out of the plastic storage tub you had it in, standing over the sink.

Julie’s Tuna Pasta Salad

• 1 lb. box of rotini pasta, cooked in salted water until done (I often use tricolor rotini)
• 12-oz. can tuna, packed in water (not oily) (break the large chunks into smaller pieces)
• 1 crown broccoli, trimmed to small pieces (include peeled, chopped stalks, too) (extra points: consider blanching the broccoli a few seconds in boiling water, then shocking it in ice water to stop the cooking, then drain completely)
• one half to 1 crown cauliflower, trimmed to small pieces (total volume about equal to the broccoli)
• 1 medium to large carrot, peeled, cut in matchsticks or coarsely shredded (about ½ cup)
• ½ cup sliced black olives, chopped, California/ripe (about half of a regular 6-oz. can)
• ½ lb. cheddar cheese (orange, boing-boing, government-style; medium or sharp) (but pepper jack or Monterey jack is good, too), cut into little bricks or cubes
• mayonnaise, your favorite kind, about 1 cup
• apple cider vinegar, about 1/2 cup
• salt, black pepper (to taste)

Mix it all together gently in a large bowl or stock pot. I usually whisk together the dressing ingredients (mayo, vinegar, salt, and pepper) separately before folding it in to the rest.

You may need to add more dressing or mayo. Adjust all the ingredients to your liking.

Preparation tip: after cutting the cheese into bricks or cubes, toss them with a pinch of flour, and the pieces of cheese won’t stick together before you stir them in with the rest of the salad.

This yields about 14 cups (or about 3 quarts) of tuna pasta salad.

Yes, it makes a lot, but part of the charm is that it’s tasty enough that we’re happy to eat it for lunch several days in a row. Just spoon it into a bowl and eat it with a few crackers; it takes virtually no time in the kitchen during our lunch breaks.

Cicadas: What’s Up With Their Eyes?

It’s just uncanny how insects seem to be looking right at you. No matter how you turn them, and from no matter what angle you look at them, they always seem to be looking right at you.

Right

at

you!

So, what’s up with their eyes? I mean, we “know” they’re compound eyes and that they are quite different from our own. Our eyes are basically a clear-jelly-filled ball, with sensors (retina) at the back, a lens-covered, expandable aperture (pupil) in the front, and muscles that rotate it (so we don’t always have to turn our head in order to look around).

But their eyes are quite different. They are fixed; they don’t rotate. So why does that dark spot on their big, buggy eyes seem to follow around, so it’s always looking at the viewer?

Wet or dry . . . they always are looking at you.

Even while they’re molting!

How does this work? It’s caused by the structure of their compound eyes. It’s essentially a result of tubes, shadows, and mirrors. To understand this, imagine a model: Think of their globe-shaped compound eyes as a cluster of narrow tubes, all pointing outward from a center point, and imagine these tubes are coated, on the inside surfaces, with silver. Closest to you, the tubes are pointed directly at you, and you can see into the whole long (dark) tunnel (you’re not seeing much of the silver), while the tubes increasingly angled away from you appear light-colored, reflecting the light.

That’s basically it: you are looking at a spherical cluster of tubes.

And it’s not just with cicadas; many insects have compound eyes that have this property.

Like this common meadow katydid.

Like this little baby, gray short-horned grasshopper. So cute, sitting on a leaf in his prairie.

And like this pretty green planthopper.

The next question is, why does this seem so freaky to us?

We humans—with our social nature, our interdependence, our allies and enemies, our capacities for trust and for deceit—have evolved to be masters at evaluating each other. We look carefully at one another’s eyes. You can tell so much about someone by their eyes! Yes, “the eyes have it.”

This is why those professional poker players so often wear mirrored sunglasses—they want to conceal their thoughts and feelings. (Why shouldn’t that be considered cheating?)

It’s why people who have eye-alignment problems have a real social disadvantage, because crossed eyes or other misalignments are stereotyped as a sign of severe developmental disability, or head injury, of being dazed or semiconscious.

It’s why silent movie actors wore such heavy eye makeup.

And so we, in our anthropomorphization of insects, can’t help but look into their eyes, too, and try to read their expressions. And what we get back is an unblinking stare, perpetually fixed upon us. Does it freak us out?

Maybe it should. Insects depend on us to not ruin the world for them. They need elbow room. They depend on the existence of their many native food plants; they depend on the habitats—prairies, woodlands, glades, wetlands—that support their various food plants. They need plenty of plants and habitat, because the usual existence strategy for insects is to create a bazillion eggs and offspring, most of which won’t make it to adulthood. On some scale, they need room, like cicadas, to have a bloom, a heyday, and then have a majority eaten by countless predators, and then return to the soil.

So yes, they depend on us.

If you feel stared at, it’s not surprising.

Do things to preserve and increase native habitats.

And vote for the environment.

The above text explaining the dark dot in insect compound eyes is loosely edited from a page I wrote for MDC’s online field guide, Mantids (Mantises). Mantises, of course, are one of the many insects with compound eyes that exhibit this phenomenon.