Do you have vegetables? When put that way, it kind of sounds like an ailment: “Help! I’m suffering from acute broccoliosis! My cauliflower is acting up! And my rutabaga is aching like the dickens!” While it’s true that some folks may avoid vegetables as though they’re a disease, I can’t get enough of them. When I was growing up, my parents never hid vegetables in other foods or disguised them with creamy sauces to trick me into eating them, although I was absolutely crazy about creamed peas. They just put a normal-sized serving of vegetables on my plate along with everything else and expected me to eat it and I usually did. My grandmother especially was a proponent of the You’ll Learn to Like It School of Plate Cleaning.
I’m not saying I liked all the vegetables when I was a kid. I most emphatically did not like squash and gourds of all varieties — banana squash, pattypan or summer squash, acorn squash, butternut squash and the especially despised spaghetti squash. It was just so stringy and gross. I thought boiled Brussels sprouts were bitter and I was perpetually sick of green beans because we’d canned enough to last us through the apocalypse and ensuing afterlife. I was fine with raw onions but couldn’t stomach the chunks of boiled onion Dad like to put in stews; he overruled my protests. He may still remember the barfing.
As an adult, the only vegetable that I really don’t like is fried okra, though I will eat pickled okra all day long and most of the night. (My hip friend Hilary turned me on to the pleasures of pickled okra a few years ago. Thanks, Hilary! You’re okrawesome!)
The point is, with very few exceptions, I’m a “more is merrier” type of person vis-à-vis vegetables. I very rarely throw any veggies into the compost bin because everything goes into our tummies. I’ll admit that I’ve let the occasional cucumber go moldy — it happens so fast, doesn’t it? — but any vegetable that’s even remotely edible goes into soups, stews, casseroles and my old standby, pasta sauce.