If it weren't for the absence of meat, I could be a vegetarian.
I love vegetables. All vegetables. Even the brussel sprout vegetables – now that I've figured out how to cook them. I'll take a salad every day, one with peppers and tomato, broccoli and beets. Radishes? Oh yes. Beets? Of course. I can eat an entire can (not pickled) and roll my eyes back in ecstasy when fresh.
Starches, fibers, sulfers, composites, goosefoots, gourdes! There's so much to absorb! I've been known to salivate like a lurpy labrador over a platter of grasses, beans, legumes, nightshades, and alliums. I am anything but mellow for mallows, and basically go cockeyed over the barissca and cruciferous. Top all that off with any sprinkling from the umbelliferous family? Oh me. Oh my.
I'll take my veggies raw, steamed, poached, parched, fried, blended, boiled, broiled, barbecued, and fire-pit scorched. Carmelize 'em, creme 'em, saute 'em 'til they scald! I don't care! Organic, shormganic... whatever! They all grow in dirt, don't they? Bring them on!
I sure love veggies. During my "should I get a tattoo?" phase, I had decided that, if I were to dapple about in the ink, I'd have two full sleeves, each dressed up in a herbacious display of produce. Sure would be purdy. Purdy, purdy, purdy.
But then there's this meat thing. I love meat too. I love it so much it keeps me from going vedge.