Tag Archives: cabbage

Coleslaw

Coleslaw: (n) sliced raw cabbage mixed with mayonnaise and other vegetables

I’ve actually only seen one person ever eat three-bean salad. It appears at pot luck dinners and buffets before my eyes, but I never have the courage to spoon it out.

I do like potato salad. Not too much mustard.

I always favored macaroni salad–mainly because it’s the most unhealthy of the existing sides at a picnic, so of course, I feel compelled to
 gorge.

Coleslaw has always been a tough one for me. Eating sweetened, raw cabbage by itself just doesn’t seem to ring my bell.

Now, if I’ve got a hamburger or a hot dog nearby, I’ll use it as a sophisticated dipping sauce. Or if I’m making a sandwich, dribbling some coleslaw on it can be delightful.

But just to sit down and consume a small bowl of coleslaw always makes me feel as if the world has ended, the bomb exploded, and this was the last bit of edible food on the planet. So after seven days of starvation, I finally decided to consume it. (Well, that’s a little dramatic.)

Some people swear by their coleslaw. I have sworn at it. (Not really, but once again, sounded clever.)

I’m sure if I sat down and listened to a promoter or an evangelist for coleslaw, they could explain to me the saving graces.

But for me, I like it best with a nice roast beef and provolone cheese sandwich, smearing the coleslaw over the top–ala mayonnaise.

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Cabbage

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Cabbage: (n) a cultivated plant eaten as a vegetable,

Cabbage, while cooking, smells like farts.

Since this is true, one should not be surprised that consuming such a concoction should continue the fart-smelling process all the way through your body. Matter of fact, your house will smell like farts for days after cooking and digesting cabbage.

Another insight: cabbage is one of those vegetables that only tastes good if it’s cooked to a certain level of tenderness–or if the head has a slight sweetness to it.

How are you supposed to find that out?

I suppose you could break off a little piece in the grocery store and chew on the raw leaf. I’m not going to do that.

And so, because it is difficult to prepare, quickly becomes mushy, and the more it’s overcooked the more bitter it tastes, it’s just best to wait until some professional cooks it for you.

Otherwise, you will have fart smell in your house, fart smell in your body, and wonder if it was worth it in the first place.

 

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Brussels Sprout

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Brussels sprout: (n) a vegetable consisting of the small compact bud of a variety of cabbage.

I was thinking about tough jobs:

Being the promotion agent for O. J. Simpson.

How about this?

Social media guru for the Facebook page of Adolph Hitler.

Or …

The marketing representative for Brussels sprouts.

This is a vegetable that has a public relations problem at nearly every turn. (Or turnip, for that matter…)Dictionary B

It is often described as a very small cabbage–not that cabbage has a great following itself. So being deemed a smaller rendition of an “also-planted” vegetable is not a “heady” proposition.

Brussels sprouts are fussy about being cooked. Some people like to keep them crisp and others, well-done. For those who like them kind of soggy, crisp is inedible. Likewise, the crispers choke on the “softies.”

Brussels sprouts also suffer under the dubious honor of being healthy. It would be a wonderful world if people were actually concerned about their health. Most people become interested in their well-being just about the time they grab their chest with a heart attack.

So it becomes an issue of taste. It’s gotta taste good. To accomplish that, we cover them in butter. Butter can make almost anything taste good, including snails.

But the problem is, when you put butter on Brussels sprouts, it’s like sending a choir boy to a maximum security prison to hang out. That which was good will certainly be tainted. The butter turns the Brussels sprouts into liquid death.

Do I like Brussels sprouts? Yes.

Would I serve them at a party? No.

Why?

Because deep in my soul, I really like people.

 

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Broccoli

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Broccoli: (n) a variety of cabbage bearing green heads, widely cultivated as a vegetable.

I don’t remember ever seeing broccoli until I was sixteen years old.

I’m not denying its existence–it’s just that for some reason, our family did not participate in broccoli. Perhaps in my era it was not as popular, but more than likely, there was a silent vote taken among family members, without my knowledge, prohibiting the odd vegetable from entering our home.Dictionary B

The first time I did see broccoli and ate it was at a Chinese restaurant, where I was embarrassed because a girl had to explain to me what was perched in front of me with a green head, staring right into my eyes.

She was sufficiently overbearing and condescending, while baffled by my ignorance.

She told me that it was a very healthy thing to eat and that people of culture had consumed it for generations. I quickly realized that she was insinuating that I was not one of them, so I quickly took my fork and cut into the stalk, having the sensation, for some reason or another, of being a tiny lumberjack.

I liked it pretty well. Now, that might be because it was in a sweet ad sour sauce, surrounded by so much goo that it had little chance of diluting the delight.

Since then I have become an avid eater of broccoli even though I will admit to you that the word “avid” does not necessarily fit into that sentence.

I well remember, however, when the first President Bush confessed to the entire nation that he did not like broccoli, there was a collective gasp of horror and disbelief that the leader of the free world would be anti-florets.

But it is an acquired taste.

As with all vegetables, you have to wrap your mind around the fact that you are actually consuming something that normally would be chewed on by a cow or dried up by a summer’s drought.

 

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Bloat

Bloat: (v) to make or become swollen with fluid or gas.

I can actually think of several foods that bloat me. Or maybe they turn me into an “old bloat.”Dictionary B

Pretzels sometimes sit up on my chest.

But certainly cabbage. One cup of cabbage is equal to two gallons of bloat.

I don’t know if that’s an actual measuring scale, but it’s as close as I can get to describing the pain, which, by the way, arrives in three stages:

1. “That was good!”

2. “Why do I feel so full?”

3. “Here it comes–get the room spray!”

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