Eating broccoli

“I bought more broccoli because I knew you were coming,” my mother informed me.

You can never get enough broccoli, that is my belief.

I am lucky in that I never had to acquire a taste for vegetables out of some sort of concern for my health. I have always loved vegetables. My mother has a picture of me at 3 years old, sound asleep with a serving spoon in my hand. I had apparently offered to finish up the remaining peas. I did, then fell fast asleep at the table. I think I could still do that today.

My sister also loves broccoli, so I am inclined to think it was our upbringing that instilled our love of vegetables. She remembers the time when she had dinner at a friend’s house as a child and realized the modest-sized bowl of broccoli was intended to feed the entire table — a bowl she could easily have eaten on her own. My broccoli-eating capacity exceeds my sister’s, and this is why my mother (who prefers to buy things in small quantities) bought twice the normal amount of broccoli before my visit. We cooked it all. It was all eaten.

Eating vegetables is not something I have to worry about doing. I saw an advertisement for “vegetables in a pill” and was appalled. I have a hard time believing there is anything in those pills approximating a vegetable but, even if there were, why would anyone want it? Eating vegetables is one of my favorite things in life.

I’m reading a book about habits right now. I hesitated to buy the book because I thought I had pretty good habits already, and I thought it would be about breaking a bunch of bad habits or training myself to eat broccoli.

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