Last year, at one of the last Spenard farmer’s markets of the season, I came across a vendor with the most incredibly sweet and tender beets. As I was picking through the beautiful bunches of ruby roots, the farmer came over and told me to ‘pick a good one’, because they were the last of his crop. I made my selection and hurried home, beet tops overflowing my bags. I hadn’t even unpacked all of my purchases before the beets were peeled and into the boiling water, and a fresh batch of tofu mayo was whirring away in the blender. The resulting beet salad was so good that after lunch I walked directly back to the farmer’s market and bought every last beet he had.
I have always liked broccoli. Not just a little bit. A lot. My folks used to brag to other parents, to my dates (thanks for that, by the way), and to anyone who would listen “Did you know that we’d have to tell her to finish her ice cream before she could have any more broccoli??”. I don’t remember that exact admonishment as a kid, and it doesn’t seem like their parenting style to have skipped feeding me more vegetables in favor of dessert, but they swear that it actually happened. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t, but the point is, some people love broccoli almost as much as ice cream, and others grow up to be President of the United States.