I am embarrassed to admit this, but I am a bad vegetarian. Not the kind that eats chicken wings when they’ve had too many gin and tonics, but the kind that doesn’t really like vegetables. Anyone in my family will tell you this has always been the case. I was the last one sitting at the table, glaring at my peas through crocodile tears while everyone else was eating their iced animal crackers.
These are tragic memories, but over the past few years I have come a long way in my relationship with vegetables. Many have made their way from my napkin to my fork, but unfortunately, appreciating their cooked taste has nothing to do with knowing what to do with them when I bring them home from the grocery store.