it gets stuck in my teeth only when I eat it raw

It's been two months since I've written in this blog for two reasons: I can't decide which food to write about next, and I've just been plain busy. But, I feel a little inspiration today. I want to tackle a vegetable I've had a nice, prosperous relationship with for a good three years now.

Broccoli. I've hated it for most of my existence. Despised it. It smelled awful and was only good for one thing: representing trees in scale models. Until my early twenties, the only green vegetable I liked was celery. I was OK with the stalk because we used to smother it in peanut butter in school, adding raisins to the top and making little cars, with each raisin representing a family member (or maybe a band member?) along for the ride. I, of course, did not partake of the raisinage, but it's part of the fond memory anyway. My car was self-propelled. Or maybe it was an empty canoe drifting down a river ...

Oh yeah, so broccoli. I can actually thank Angie for convincing me that this food was OK to eat. She hasn't convinced me on collard greens, but according to her that's only because she hasn't had the opportunity to make them for me herself. So one random day in the Auburn Ruby Tuesday, I said "yes" to a buttery little tree and was amazed. What a fantastic and healthy alternative to french fries! Yes, I'll order this and feel better about myself, even though I'm about to begin the most significant weight gain of my life so far. Ahem. After a few successful experiences with the steamed veggie in restaurants, I became brazen enough to purchase the little frozen pouch of buttery broccoli spears you heat in the microwave. Splendid! I'm so proud.

Enter family and Outback Steakhouse. I order a filet (thanks, Dad) and a side of broccoli. No one flinches. The meal comes, and I eat the broccoli. No one takes a second glance. I yell with my mind: "Hey! It's me! Ginny! Eating broccoli!!! Doesn't this strike you as odd?! I don't even eat gravy! Or nuts! Or any vegetable other than a carrot!" Finally the meal draws to a close and I point out the blatant ridiculousness of this discrepancy to my mother. I basically get a "That's nice, dear." It's sadly uneventful until my younger brother snatches the last piece of bright, tender greenery from my plate and defiles it in a tiny vat of ketchup. I gasp and become angry. I'm hurt. I'm shamed. I'm unable to eat the precious sprig. It's covered in blood and Daniel just laughs. Oh, the humanity!

Tonight I looked in my cupboard and shook my head at the last package of ramen. Top Ramen. Beef flavor. I'm a bit of a ramen snob. I know how I like to eat it, and I know which brand I like. It's not Top Ramen beef flavor. It's Maruchan roast-chicken flavor. That's it. Top Ramen noodles just get so ... noodley. Squishy and soft and water-logged. Not pleasant. (I guess I like my ramen a little al-dente.) So I figured if I was ever going to eat it, it would be tonight. But I needed something to go with it.

I don't have any salad, but I have some broccoli in the fridge. I've never cooked broccoli for myself except the microwave variety, but I've seen my mom boil it and thought, "Damn, that's way too easy. I could do that." So tonight I took that broccoli and I chopped it with the Dana Carvey song in my head and I threw it in some boiling water. Then I inhaled. Then I remembered why cooking broccoli is a bad idea. When I got back up off the floor, I stirred the broccoli with a spatula and taste-tested the ramen. Yep, still nasty. I poked at the broccoli for a good, I don't know, 10-12 minutes, and finally decided it was ready. I dropped it on a plate and smothered it in butter, salt and pepper, and delighted in the most unsavory-smelling thing I have ever allowed into my mouth. It just tastes so freaking GOOD. And then I dumped the second half of the beefy noodles into the trash and ate a chocolate-covered pretzel.

Sweet broccoli dreams, everyone. Let's hope it doesn't make us gassy.