;)
Sunday
Aug162009
An Open Letter To Asparagus
Sunday, August 16, 2009 at 4:18PM
Dear Asparagus,
Who exactly do you think you're fooling? Do you think there is not any way I'm not on to you? Because I am, I most certainly assure you.
I first met you in the summer of 1986. I was at my regular Saturday night babysitting gig, and the family I sat for invited me over early that night for dinner. I glanced around the table, eyed the roast, oogled the potatoes, and then my eyes wandered to a large white serving platter containing something the likes of which I'd never seen before.
You sat in a bowl, long and pointy, the shade of green that strikes terror in the heart of anyone under 5' tall. The father of the family asked, "Wanna try some?" I, not yet quick-witted enough to weave a tale desperate or agonizing enough to escape such horrors, politely obliged. I took one small, calculated bite.
"Well, it appears we should call it asperGAGus, huh?", he chuckled. I countered his chuckle with one hearty chuck. The "le" alluded me that night.
I never saw you after that fateful day of my twelfth year (my family's poverty did have its upside) until nearly 20 years later. I was employed at a dark, smoky, posh little bar in downtown Denver that thought way too highly of itself, and on the Saturday night of the fall menu roll-out, our paths again crossed. On the new menu, which consisted solely of over-ingrediented (is TOO a word) tapas, you smuggly sat, glaring at me with a thick air of superiority surrounding your pointy little green head.
Asparagus. Wrapped in prosciutto. Drizzled with strawberry compote. Oh, how you mocked me as you defiled all those fine, innocent young ingredients. How you smirked as you rubbed up against a perfectly good slice of almost-bacon, as you soaked in the sweet juices of the most sensual berry. I turned my gaze away from you that night; why feed the fire? No one would order you, and you would sit cold, alone, and slowly growing flaccid in a stale downtown refrigerator.
How foolish I was.
Table after table oooh'd and ahhhh'd over your pretentiousness. Customer after customer indulged themselves in your vitamin-laded, urine-toxifying stalks. I was brought, nightly, to your putrid alter, but I was stronger than you thought me to be. I never did succumb to your mind games, whiskey shots and drunk-munchies be damned.
I began seeing you rear your ugly head around town. On tapas, in soup, mixed with pasta, you had no shame or discretion. You even dared to appear one morning in the middle of my beloved Eggs Benedict, as if you thought I wouldn't notice you under a sea of hollandaise. Your worst offense, however, happened only days ago when you spied me nearing the refrigerated section at Safeway, pushing a full cart and simultaneously carrying a dead asleep, 5,000 pound almost three year old. As I came closer to you, sweat pouring from my furrowed brow, distracted by two pre-teens desperately seeking cookies, you wiggled your way up to the front of the ravioli section, cleverly hidden amongst cheese raviolis. Knowing there was no way for me to actually read what package I batted into the back of my cart, you made certain you were front and center, the easiest choice.
You made it all the way into my home, sat comfortably in the back of my fridge, and almost saw your scheme to fruition as I boiled water and tossed a salad that one night, only days ago. However, your evil plans were thwarted at the last minute; even though I have no glasses and can barely see, I saw YOU. You underestimate me, and that is a sad mistake to make, my friend. I'm on to you, and I always keep emergency hot dogs on hand. I don't NEED you.
It would appear that you chose to bring some of old cohorts back to the mainstream with you, possibly to deflect some of the attention away from yourself in your attempt at a Retro Resurrection. I will fight, hand over fist, until your asparagus eating, leg-warmer wearing, hairspray using, New Kids on the Block touring, Care Bear collecting, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle animating, Camaro driving, Wayfarer and jelly bracelet wearing posse is disbanded, drawn, and possibly quartered, depending on what time of the month I find you. The 80's were only cool in the 80's, and you, like avocado colored appliances, should never have made it out.
Once, in your prime, you were a valuable source of vitamins A, B, C, folic acid, and an excellent source of torture for parents, but this is the 21st century. We can make something just as vitamin rich as you out for cardboard, and old muffler and some duct tape. And it would be shaped like a teddy bear. And taste like chocolate. And we still have brussel sprouts, and at least they don't run around trying to be all phallic.
Your usefulness has seen its last days. Your welcome has officially worn out. Anything that can make my children's stay in the washroom a more smelly experience is not fit for modern society. It is time to remove yourself from it, before I am forced to do it for you. Asparagus, you are on NOTICE.
Yours in Christ,
Mr Lady
Who exactly do you think you're fooling? Do you think there is not any way I'm not on to you? Because I am, I most certainly assure you.
I first met you in the summer of 1986. I was at my regular Saturday night babysitting gig, and the family I sat for invited me over early that night for dinner. I glanced around the table, eyed the roast, oogled the potatoes, and then my eyes wandered to a large white serving platter containing something the likes of which I'd never seen before.
You sat in a bowl, long and pointy, the shade of green that strikes terror in the heart of anyone under 5' tall. The father of the family asked, "Wanna try some?" I, not yet quick-witted enough to weave a tale desperate or agonizing enough to escape such horrors, politely obliged. I took one small, calculated bite.
"Well, it appears we should call it asperGAGus, huh?", he chuckled. I countered his chuckle with one hearty chuck. The "le" alluded me that night.
I never saw you after that fateful day of my twelfth year (my family's poverty did have its upside) until nearly 20 years later. I was employed at a dark, smoky, posh little bar in downtown Denver that thought way too highly of itself, and on the Saturday night of the fall menu roll-out, our paths again crossed. On the new menu, which consisted solely of over-ingrediented (is TOO a word) tapas, you smuggly sat, glaring at me with a thick air of superiority surrounding your pointy little green head.
Asparagus. Wrapped in prosciutto. Drizzled with strawberry compote. Oh, how you mocked me as you defiled all those fine, innocent young ingredients. How you smirked as you rubbed up against a perfectly good slice of almost-bacon, as you soaked in the sweet juices of the most sensual berry. I turned my gaze away from you that night; why feed the fire? No one would order you, and you would sit cold, alone, and slowly growing flaccid in a stale downtown refrigerator.
How foolish I was.
Table after table oooh'd and ahhhh'd over your pretentiousness. Customer after customer indulged themselves in your vitamin-laded, urine-toxifying stalks. I was brought, nightly, to your putrid alter, but I was stronger than you thought me to be. I never did succumb to your mind games, whiskey shots and drunk-munchies be damned.
I began seeing you rear your ugly head around town. On tapas, in soup, mixed with pasta, you had no shame or discretion. You even dared to appear one morning in the middle of my beloved Eggs Benedict, as if you thought I wouldn't notice you under a sea of hollandaise. Your worst offense, however, happened only days ago when you spied me nearing the refrigerated section at Safeway, pushing a full cart and simultaneously carrying a dead asleep, 5,000 pound almost three year old. As I came closer to you, sweat pouring from my furrowed brow, distracted by two pre-teens desperately seeking cookies, you wiggled your way up to the front of the ravioli section, cleverly hidden amongst cheese raviolis. Knowing there was no way for me to actually read what package I batted into the back of my cart, you made certain you were front and center, the easiest choice.
You made it all the way into my home, sat comfortably in the back of my fridge, and almost saw your scheme to fruition as I boiled water and tossed a salad that one night, only days ago. However, your evil plans were thwarted at the last minute; even though I have no glasses and can barely see, I saw YOU. You underestimate me, and that is a sad mistake to make, my friend. I'm on to you, and I always keep emergency hot dogs on hand. I don't NEED you.
It would appear that you chose to bring some of old cohorts back to the mainstream with you, possibly to deflect some of the attention away from yourself in your attempt at a Retro Resurrection. I will fight, hand over fist, until your asparagus eating, leg-warmer wearing, hairspray using, New Kids on the Block touring, Care Bear collecting, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle animating, Camaro driving, Wayfarer and jelly bracelet wearing posse is disbanded, drawn, and possibly quartered, depending on what time of the month I find you. The 80's were only cool in the 80's, and you, like avocado colored appliances, should never have made it out.
Once, in your prime, you were a valuable source of vitamins A, B, C, folic acid, and an excellent source of torture for parents, but this is the 21st century. We can make something just as vitamin rich as you out for cardboard, and old muffler and some duct tape. And it would be shaped like a teddy bear. And taste like chocolate. And we still have brussel sprouts, and at least they don't run around trying to be all phallic.
Your usefulness has seen its last days. Your welcome has officially worn out. Anything that can make my children's stay in the washroom a more smelly experience is not fit for modern society. It is time to remove yourself from it, before I am forced to do it for you. Asparagus, you are on NOTICE.
Yours in Christ,
Mr Lady
Reader Comments (48)
HAH
Brilliant honey ;-) This made me, a confirmed asparagus lovah, giggle ;-)
wrapped in bacon, drizzled with olive oil and garlic.. roasted to perfection.. nom nom nom
steamed with lemon and garlic and pepper.. drool.
oh and did you know? The smelly asparagus pee thing.. it's apparently genetic. Not everyone gets smelly asparagus pee.
LOVES you woman.
Did I really just read this? Only YOU could give Asparagus it's notice and make it brilliant. You are by far....my favorite!
I loves me some asparagus, but I get the whole phallic thing. Have you seen white asparagus? They may as well just call them "thin penises." Thanks for the laugh. And I love the sign off. Yours in Christ...brilliant.
Is it the asparagus pee that troubles you so?
TEARS. there are TEARS streaming down my face i am laughing so frickin' hard. seriously.
but, yanno. asparagus is SO YUMMY. and where else can you make the excuse for eating something so phallic-like and it being acceptable? ;)
*snickers*
I love it bathed in a little olive oil, salt and pepper...then grilled....ooohhhh the love...
I love asparagus. BBQed or oven-charred swith coarse salt. mmm. My children have loved asparagus until they don't and then I don't bug them. Whatever. They'll be back. Or they won't. Whatever.
The urine thing though, is a source of endless debate in my house, as my husband screams at me "HOW CAN YOU NOT SMELL THAT???" and I say "smell what?" Trying to figure out if I can't smell "it" or just don't produce "it" myself, we have degenerated to "OK, I just peed and it stinks, run in there and tell me if you smell it or not" (that could be either one of us, although usually, I don't remember to care, since I sense no smell to remind me). We've even dragged other couples at fancy dinner-parties into our lurid little debate. I think the conclusion has been I neither smell it nor produce the offending smell. I should point out that my nose is otherwise pretty good. I think it's like one of those tounge-curling things - you got it or you don't.
They're really just pointy little green penises.
LOL!
Hate.Hate.Hate asparagus. The only time in my life that I gagged on food, it was asparagus. The boy I was with at the time loved it and kept canned asparagus in the fridge. I still get nauseous thinking about him taking the entire ice cold stalk and eating it whole. Gross.
Oh, and I moved.
Oooh. Asparagus. Yum. The green kind. Unfortunately the poptart does not feel the same way and gets some NASTY gas and other unmentionable things when I eat it. And really, asparagus wrapped in prosciutto? NOM NOM NOM. Except for the baby gas. You just did that to torture me, didn't you?
Although, substitute "brussels sprouts" for "asparagus" in that, and I'm your girl.
I had a couple of glasses of wine on Thursday night at my Papa's 79th birthday dinner. And someone asked me, "what's wrong, you don't like asparagus?"
And I told the table, "Oh, I love asparagus on the way in. Just not on the way out."
-_-
But... but... it's actually really GOOD.
And the funny smelling pee? What's not to love about that??
I WILL FIGHT FOR YOU, ASPARAGUS!
Let me know when we take the war to brussel sprouts!
I read this and I chuckled and I wondered if you were boycotting meds.
Then I peed about 10 minutes ago, after having some asparagus for dinner last night.
Viva le resistance!
I love Asparagus.
And Brussel Sprouts.
And sleeping in your cushiony breasts.
This is the best letter to a vegetable that I've ever read. Oh yes - there have been many.
The first time I met my future wife's extended family, I sat between her uncle and her cousin (her aunt that was hosting has this fucked up idea that you have to sit next to people that aren't in your immediate family or circle, which meant that I couldn't sit beside my girlfriend when I met her family... nice, eh?) As the asparagus was passed around, her uncle turned to me and said, "Do you like asparagus?"
"I've actually never had it before."
"Oh, you should try it. It makes your pee stink."
I like to bite the heads off. After I dip the tip into a bowl of mayo mixed with dill!
I will eat the asparagus out of politeness, but I am not a fan. I can say I have never bought and prepared it myself. It just isn't good enough. I also HATE brussel sprouts. Too bitter. GAG. More for everyone else. Not everyone gets the funny smelling pee. Some of us don't have that enzyme that reacts with the asparagus business to create that smell.
Death to Asparagus!
(PS: Your writing. My god. Your writing.)
Grilled asparagus? Or smothered in cheese? Mmmmm.
But I'm one of those weirdos that likes things like liver and brussels sprouts. Especially when smothered with cheese. Mmmmm... (the brussels sprouts, I mean. I like my liver with onions.)
Mmmmm grilled asparagus. Yum! Now brussel sprouts, wrong. Oh so wrong.
I thought of you this weekend when I was in the "posh little bar in downtown Denver that thought way too highly of itself." No tapas for us but we did have martinis and bread pudding.
I LOVE ASPARAGUS. And beets. And brussel sprouts.
Hate, hate, hate asparagus. I make it for my hubby when I am feeling the love though since he adores it. I can actually swallow stalks whole so I don't have to taste them. This talent dates back to childhood when we had to clean our plates and I was faced with a mountain of the nasty stuff. It was either swallow them whole, vomit on my plate, or sit at the table until I reached 18 and could move out. And heaven knows my butt didn't need to be in a chair for that many years. It was spreading rapidly all on its own.
My kids would eat asparagus just for the asparagus pee alone. Seriously though? My favorite veggie, along with brussel sprouts and beets.
Nothing like brussel sprouts, seared in a little butter, with a dash of salt and chopped kiwi. It's like eating a baby angel.
Had to laugh at Kristen's comment. There are places where that skill would be highly valued!
omg, too funny. i have to go pee some asparagus pee!
Love Asparagus. Love your letter. Hate that my pee smells after I eat it. I hope my pee doen't smell after reading your post.
all the best.
I love aspargus and after reading this, I will always think of you as I enjoy it.
You,,,,,, Mr. Lady.... are one wack-o broad... and I love you to pieces !
Lov~
Poo
But teh azperagus is amaizing.
@Anissa@FreeAnissa, Let me just grab my pitchfork and I'll be right behind ya!
This post doesn't even need ranch dip.
I love the unspeakable thing you hate.
I will take all the asparagus you do not want to eat....love it!
And, everyone's pee stinks but not everyone has the ability to smell it.
LMAO...I actually love asparagus, but eat it rarely. Great letter though, absolutely love it!
Man, I love asparagus...but, perhaps not a true fan, as I think it tastes best, salty and out of a can. I had it in a restaurant once wrapped in ham and crust and dipped in cheese, and I think that would be the one food I would eat forever if I had to choose.
"Yours in Christ" You slay me.
My husband won't eat asparagus because it makes his pee smell. I lurve it. Sorry dude.
OK, yes your pee smells.can I tell you why?? because the dreaded/loved asparagus detoxifies AMMONIA from your body. Ammonia goes in through the skin, and lungs and is very harmful to you. The smell is not the dreaded veggie, but the poison it REMOVES from your body. See, really it loves you! Try to be kinder hehe. The reason I know this little tidbit is that I am a hairdresser, and come in contact with nasty ammonia every day, so I eat the little pointy dudes as often as I can.
My dad is like OBSESSED with asparagus and I can't stand the sight/smell/taste/existence of them. Awesome letter. I'm sure many people share the same feelings.
I had the same problem with celery; it stalked me for years. I do like me some asparagus, though.
Loved the post.
Can't believe I just read 41 comments about people smelling their urine.
Hilarious!!
The amazing thing about asparagus pee, is that the smell will be present within mere minutes of eating it! I love that!!
I am totally with you on brussel sprouts. That is a taste that no human should EVER need to have on one's tongue....I actually do not even think brussel sprouts were even meant to be eaten. It is one big cruel joke on all who ingest them in the name of ... something. Health? Pity? Guilt? I am not sure.
But asparagus? I had a dish very close to what you describe from that Denver restaurant on the evening of my engagement to my dude when he took me to a ocean view dining hot spot in La Jolla and it was divine. I think you need to give it another chance. I really do.
Or maybe we have to break up?
:-)
I'm an asparagus fan myself, but I do remember the first time my son tried it. Oh man...your story takes me back to that day. And the time that my wife tried to blanch some so that she could freeze it. That stuff attained a state of mushiness to which oatmeal desperately aspires.
You ought to try dousing it in olive oil, salt and pepper and throwing it on the grill for about five minutes. My son tried that and he likes it. He really...likes...it...
Did NukeDad say actually say that the celery *stalked* him? It takes a brave, brave man to throw one out like that!
I love asparagus! My mum used to make it all the time because it was one of the few vegetables I actually liked (I think it was mostly because I'm a boy and I was fascinated by the stinky pee phenomenon).
asparagus ... yummmmmmm.
except i always am taken by surprise by the pee thing. you'd think i'd remember that i'd eaten the damned things not long before!
Love this post, a classic to be sure.
And just for some unnecessary scientific crapola:
the asper-stink is due to a metabolite called methanethiol and EVERYONE has stinky pee after eating it...just not everyone can smell it.