eat, vegetables, love

Does anyone remember how all this foolishness got started? I’ve been thinking about it lately while I haven’t been cooking or eating vegetables but have been eating some great meat cooked by other people at Decatur’s newest burger joint. The answer is: I have no idea. I think it was an accident. I mean, I know I had a series of revelations about what a baby I’ve been about eating vegetables all my life, but no other revelation has ever led me to wake up one day and forfeit a way of life I’ve worked so hard for. I think it’s possible my abducted by aliens theory may have legs.

I’ve been thinking about this because I’ve just trudged through the last several vegetables, adhering to the letter of the rules but not really the spirit. I was so successful last summer and fall when each vegetable taunted me as if it was going to be on my plate for every meal for the rest of my life; I had to bring my A game every week. But once I had a few wins under my belt I thought my B game might suffice, because it seemed pretty clear that I had the whole project in the bag. If I can eat beets, I can eat anything. But it’s just not true. Turnips are not as bad as beets (honestly, nothing is as bad as beets) (except onions), but they still deserve effort to make them edible, and they take a lot of effort to make them enjoyable. And enjoyable was what I was going for when I began this project. I think. It’s what I imagine I would have wanted if I could remember why I started all this in the first place, but since the aliens made me do it I can’t verify that.

I’m digging deep to knock out the last handful of horrifying monsters and I will no doubt win them all (really, if there’s one thing we’ve learned, I don’t lose for shit), but we’re going to love the mess out of the rest of the list. Bet me.