Tag Archives: asparagus

Chocolate

Chocolate: (n) a food preparation made from roasted and ground cacao seeds, typically sweetened.

Obesity is a bitch, because it bitches at you because you’re obese.

It forces you to think about food more than you need to, which can eventually cause you to rebel about being confined.

After all, I’ve never seen a prisoner who’s grateful for being locked up because it made him eat more vegetables.

Likewise, even though being fat does require some disciplinary action, removing the finer parts of life–for instance, chocolate– is what the constitution may have meant by “cruel and unusual punishment.”

So sometimes the prisoner locked within the fatty walls must break out and be free.

Matter of fact, it happened to me last night.

I wanted some chocolate.

Realizing that a Milky Way candy bar is in the hundreds of calories, and even a pack of M & M’s has way too much sugar, I did discover a tiny piece of delight called the Candy Kiss, which ended up being just 22 calories and 2.6 grams of sugar.

Now obviously, one Candy Kiss is not enough, especially if you’ve been locked up in solitary for a long period of time, devoid of the pleasure. But sometimes you can convince yourself to hold it to three.

Three Candy Kisses, bitten in half, creating six bites of chocolate, is a mind-boggling, soul-altering spiritual revival, with a good shout of “Hallelujah” followed by a creamy “A-men.”

Sometimes nothing will replace chocolate.

I certainly enjoy my asparagus, but I cannot truthfully say that it is related, coordinated, conjoined or entwined with the marvelous miracle of chocolate.

 

 

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Buster

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Buster: (n) a mildly disrespectful or humorous form of address, especially to a man or boy.

Beware of an aunt who doesn’t have children of her own, and insists that she “really loves kids,” who comes to visit and in no time at all is so irritated that she starts referring to you as “buster.”

I had one.

I will not mention her name out of deference to her feelings, even though she has since passed away. We always have hope for people when they go to a proposed afterlife. For my aunt, my hope is that it is an adult-living condominium with no children allowed.

I will have to admit to you–she tried. Each time she arrived at our home, she came with a fresh, energetic approach, to relate to us kids as human beings.

She always brought books instead of toys. And these were books that were at least five years too old for us. There were no pictures, and she would always take at least ten minutes explaining the history, background and mission of the author.

She would also bring a casserole with her, ablaze with color and all kinds of ingredients, but for some reason, the taste and texture of it always reminded me of asparagus snot. (Now, I don’t personally know what asparagus snot is, but I thought it was a very descriptive way to relate my feelings about the dish.) More annoying, she stood over me and waited for me to taste it before I got the chance to scrape it into the trash can or slide it under the table for my hapless dog to slurp.

Also, this particular aunt was always on the verge of tears. Now, it didn’t take much. One day I was yelling at my little brother because he wouldn’t help me with the trash cans, and she came over to hug him in the most exorbitant way, looking up at me as she did, scolding me for failing to be sensitive to one of God’s precious creatures.

Interestingly though, it didn’t seem to bother her that when she talked to me, she was always suggesting that I lose weight, tuck in my shirt, or, on several occasions, remarking on how bad my breath was. I guess you had to be a little kid to be one of God’s creatures.

My aunt was a woman who married once, got a divorce, never had children–but was sure she would have been the best mother in the world.

Whenever I was out of line, she looked at me with her fiery eyes and said, “Buster, you should be glad I’m not your mother!”

She was right.

I was.

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Asparagus

Asparagus: (n) a tall plant of the lily family with fine feathery foliage, cultivated for its edible shoots.dictionary with letter A

For after all, having knowledge is not necessary in order to espouse. In our day and age, merely having a strong opinion complemented with verbosity is sufficient motive for accosting your audience with determinations.

Here’s what I do know about asparagus: I like it.

I do not remember when I ever disliked asparagus, though I am sure at the age of three, having it introduced into the room probably would have caused me to run out in terror.

It has a very intimidating appearance. It has a distinctive odor, and I have a son who insists that those who eat this particular vegetable urinate a unique aroma.

As I said, I do not know about such things, but as I also stated, am feeling free to share at will.

The most outstanding thing about asparagus to me is that when I eat it I feel affluent.

It’s expensive.

Every once in a while it falls down into my price range. Then I buy it in bunches, usually serving it with a nice steak or a medium-quality fish.

Being more expensive. it does require a whole lot of attention, care and the addition of friends like butter, and even almonds.

I like to grab it by its stem and put the little curly head in my mouth and gradually insert the entire stick in one bite.

I can recommend this approach. It stresses your opulence–not only are you unconcerned with taking small bites, but you are content your wealth enables you to eat this costly commodity in huge chunks.

Some might say that asparagus is an acquired taste.

But truthfully, I think the whole process of eating vegetables is getting used to the idea of tasting “green.”

Yes, green has a taste.

It varies ever so slightly from broccoli to kale to asparagus, but normally falls into a common realm in the kingdom of flavor.

If you never develop the taste for green you will spend your life eating browns, tans and whites, leaving the planet early … because you just didn’t have the heart for it.

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