I like broccoli

I like broccoli—No, it’s true!

When I was a little child I didn’t want to eat it. Growing up, my mother never made it fresh—always from frozen and well-boiled. I didn’t like the color of the just-slightly-cooked-too-long broccoli. I wasn’t fond of the way that it flopped on the end of my fork. I was less than enamored of the bright-green-turned-just-a-little-grey-green color.

My mother told me to pretend that I was a dinosaur and that the broccoli was a little tree. For the next several years I was a dinosaur, eating broccoli trees smothered in butter—rawr. I learned that I actually like my cruciferous vegetables. There’s a little bit of sweetness in the broccoli stalk, unlike cauliflower, that contrasts nicely with the saltiness of butter. The florets break apart in a satisfying manner when I bite into them. I devoured forests.

I learned a lesson about trying new things and I don’t need to pretend that I’m a dinosaur anymore… I don’t need to.



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