Broccoli Insecurity

So many things in life have taken a sharp turn for the worse—politics, professional sports, and general civility for starters. I recently encountered a quote from a longtime restauranteur. He lamented the fact that nowadays all too many of his customers are impatient, rude, and even nasty. It appears that people aren’t just crude, loathsome, and inane behind the veil of anonymity on platforms like Twitter, TikTok, and Facebook. It’s spilling over into real life—the bright light of day—which was inevitable, I suppose.

Another thing that has gone south is broccoli. Once upon a time it was my favorite vegetable. In my youth, my paternal grandmother—a chef extraordinaire—prepared a dish that was other-worldly: broccoli and spaghetti. It always looked and tasted as expected—delicious. Without fail, the cooked broccoli sported an alluring light-green hue. The black pepper added to the repast tenaciously clung to the florets, which were smothered in aromatic garlic and olive oil. Reach for the slices of Italian bread to sop up the oily remains. Napkins—more than one—were required. I could have eaten Grandma’s broccoli and spaghetti every day back in the day. Pray tell, what happened to the broccoli?

Admittedly, try as I might, I could never duplicate my grandmother’s broccoli and spaghetti. Occasionally, I would taste a hint of what came before me and be pleased with my efforts. Now, it just doesn’t happen—ever. I add more and more garlic with each college try, but even that doesn't enhance what has truly become a tasteless vegetable. As a boy, I would choose as my birthday meal: liver, broccoli, and mashed potatoes. It was a peculiar request for a kid, I know, especially from one who was known to be quite finicky vis-à-vis eating habits. Today, save perhaps the mashed potatoes, I’d pass on that childhood meal.

I presume that broccoli is somehow grown differently in the here and now. The stalks appear thinner and a darker green than the ones with which my grandmother worked her magic. So, I must accept this broccoli insecurity of mine and move on to greener pastures. Nevertheless, I can’t help myself. Hoping for a miracle find one day—a needle in a haystack— I still buy the veggie on occasion.

A footnote here: I’ve noticed in the current media vernacular and beyond the phrase “food insecurity” has taken root. It’s used to describe folks who don’t have the financial wherewithal to sufficiently feed themselves and their families. It just seems like an odd term to describe what it is intended to describe. But these are odd times, aren't they?

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)