I had a lot of weird dreams this week. In one I was on a date with Aunt Bee from The Andy Griffith Show and we had to push handcarts when our transportation went out. (It was not a good date, as she became furious when she thought I had given her a nostalgic ring out of selfish motives.) In another, I was part of a mass shooting--and then the next day a mass shooting actually happened in Kansas. (What is our world coming to?!) And in another, a guy had brought his girlfriend to church, and while reading scriptures out loud during Sunday School, he looked at her and began reading them very romantically, and we were all disgusted.
Anyway, sometimes these dreams wake me up, and sometimes I am left awake thinking about random things in the middle of the night. Oh, these usually aren't very important or heavy topics, but I think about them. And this week I was thinking about all the different kinds of people there are, and I was wondering what kind of person I am.
I tend to think of myself as extremely abnormal, like there is no one else like me. But this week I went to a work meeting where someone was wearing the exact same shirt I was, and later that day I met someone who shares my enthusiasm for Thanksgiving music. (I was able to recommend a few songs to her.) But if I'm not so unique, what category of person do I fit into?
***
This was the beginning of a post in which I described various different kinds of people--nerds, hipsters, hippies, bros, etc. I started it before church, and I was going to finish it later. However, I decided that doing so would be judgmental and simultaneously self-debasing and self-aggrandizing.
Since I have nothing else to talk about, I want to praise vegetables! But not just vegetables in general. I firmly believe that vegetables are better when they are cooked. (Despite what others say, I think they're healthier when cooked as well.)
First off, I don't like salads. Now, lettuce and other things are not better when cooked, but many salad vegetables (most notably onions) are better when cooked. And if the vegetables are fine, then very often I dislike the dressing--especially if there's a lot of it. And then, if the vegetables and the dressing are fine, there is often cheese added that makes it gross. I don't understand how people can bear to get foul-smelling feta near enough their nose to eat it. I can't stand it. I also don't like parmesan and have to fish it out if I happen to have a salad with it in it.
Salads aren't my thing. However, since I started cooking from a vegetarian cookbook last fall, I've really come to appreciate veggies.
Take celery, for example. I always thought that the only thing celery was good for was as a means to eat peanut butter. But recently I made a creamy celery soup. I didn't expect much of it. However, it was actually quite tasty. I didn't know that celery could impart such a nice flavor.
I went to an event that had veggie trays this week, and they included raw cauliflower and broccoli. I found those vegetables gross. Yet I have loved making stir-fried broccoli and broccoli-cauliflower soup.
And on Friday, I went to a restaurant, and I ate a portion of a cooked onion. I actually found myself craving more after I had finished. Yet when I go to Subway, I ask them to skip the onion, because I hate raw onions. They just make my mouth feel gross all day, and they don't even taste good. But they're wonderful when cooked.
I have also enjoyed vegetables that we don't often use as much, such as shallots and chard. I hope to be able to experiment with even more kinds of vegetables.
And lest you think I'm a health nut who will judge you for not eating healthy, I won't. (Well, I might judge you for guzzling soda every day.) I mean, yesterday I went to Arby's, and I still eat plenty of candy. (Seasonal, of course.) This is just my personal experience. My mom recently had surgery, so some people gave her a bunch of frozen meals that were largely meat based. I found them gross, whereas in the past I wouldn't have found them bad.
So eat your veggies. As long as they're cooked first.
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