My children recently had steamed broccoli for the first time.
Confronted with an entire head of soft green mush, they did not really know what to do with it, so they smiled politely and pushed it around on their plates.
One of my daughters confided in me later, “Now I know why other kids don’t like broccoli.”
As a child, I never understood why other kids did not like broccoli either. Or spinach. The first time I had spinach that had been cooked to death, I remember grieving, “What did that poor spinach ever do to anybody?”
I was embarrassed and felt like such an oddball for being the only kid in the world who wished her mother would make broccoli or spinach more often — crisp and bright, stir-fried quickly in just a shimmer of oil and a splash of salt.
Those other kids had no idea how lucky they were to have mere broccoli and spinach as their foes, when I knew the real dishes to face down were suen (bamboo shoots) and xue li hong (red in the snow preserved vegetable), which my mother once cooked every night for a month until I learned to love them (or at least swallow without grimacing).
click on link for more: The power of pancit: Try something new during Asian Pacific American Heritage Month