Bred-for-shelf-life American produce has ruined my lovely taste buds! At least, for bok choy.
Beau and I (though he will say, "Just you, J."), have a community garden plot not too far from our house. Since I am tomato-obsessed, I currently have filled the majority of the plot with -nineteen- tomato plants (with only 2 duplicates in the bunch). So, there are a healthy 17 different ones out there - big fat beefmasters, crazy Cherokee purples, lovely Lemon pears, early Oregon Springs, bazillions of various Cherries (well,
I hope there will be), and so on and so on. Damn all those who tell me I can't grow tomatoes in Montana - for I will! *stomps foot* Hence the giant tomato experiment - SOME of these will grow to, literal, fruition. About 2/3 of the plants already have tomatoes. We'll see what happens in the next few months. I'm excited! But then, I'm a geek.
And why do gardeners have such a hard-on for the garden tomato? Why, because the flavor of that home-grown beauty is so powerful, so wonderful, so juicy, that many say, "You can just eat them right off the bush, just like an apple!" Yes, the delightfully overwhelming flavor of the garden!
So, bordering the garden like a giant picture frame, we've planted lots of the quickie stuff like snow and sugar snap peas and bok choy (as well as the tons and tons of herbs I require). And a couple of eggplants as well. We were excited for the bok choy, since as major cookers of Asian food, we use various types of bok choy on a fairly regular basis. And when that bok choy grew, oh baby, those mo fo's GREW! Four bok choys soon became as big as your head. Then they became bigger. Then Beau started calling them Seymour. Fearing they may take over this planet, we picked one, and surprisingly, with one gentle tug, it obligingly popped right out of the ground. Wow! We were going to have fresh, garden bok choy! Yes!
Well, I was the first to cook it, since Beau was at Wally World cursing his existence. I made myself some stir fry, a common dish when I'm alone on the weekend and wanting to be full for most of the day. I put in plenty of the bok choy, excited at its hearty goodness to come.
As I began to dig in to the stir fry a short while later, I excitedly spooned some of the veggie into my mouth. I chewed. I hmmmed. I furrowed my brow. I took another spoonful for a more thoughtful examination. I chewed. I hmmmmed some more and then felt only confusion.
I didn't really like it.
I kept eating it, thinking I just wasn't really getting the right taste. I mean, I love bok choy! And of course, THIS was bok choy in all its natural glory. But as I found myself avoiding the veggie a
s my spoon dipped into the bowl, instead vying for the mushrooms, tomatoes, or tofu, I knew it was true.
It was yucky.
Okay, it wasn't yucky yucky. It was just STRONG. Real strong. Like, "HELLO, I'M BOK CHOY!" strong. Like pinch-you-on-the-arm-real-hard-like-a-dick strong. I was so disappointed, in both the bok choy and myself. Could I really be the great lover of food I professed to be? The great American chef of Southeast Asian cuisine? Here was fresh, organic, healthy, vegetables, and I was turning up my nose at its....flavor? *sigh* Had my taste buds been absolutely ruined from years and years of ginormous grocery store fare that was grown to live on the shelf as long as possible and had abandoned taste many moons ago?? It seems so.
A few days later I made stir fry again, this time for both Beau and I, and carted it off to Wally World, where on his break, we found a nice patch of grass in the shade and began to eat. I was hoping the first time had been a fluke, so I had included the bok choy again.
Beau chewed. He hmmmed. His stoic face twitched.
"Do you like it?" I asked studying his face closely.
"I don't know," he said, reaching for another spoonful.
Beau does not always come to quick decisions. This is not a sign of stupidity, but of thoughtfulness. And if you ever read
The Introvert Advantage, the Introvert-Extroverts' version of
Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, you'll find out it's true.
As the meal progressed and we ate more stir fry, the prevalence of bok choy in the bowl and disappearance of all other vegetables was apparent. It seemed that Beau didn't like it much either. "It's strong," he said. I could only nod and sigh.
Each time since then when I returned to the garden, the remaining three bok choys loomed in ferocity. I finally asked our next door neighbor, a very jovial man named Neal, if he liked bok choy. "Sure!" he exclaimed, "I can put it in stir fry."
"It's as big as your torso," I said.
He laughed, "Okay!"
I plucked another out of the ground and after Beau hacked off its unseemly roots, we stuck it in a plastic bag and hung it on his door.
We haven't heard from him since.
The next time I went to the garden, a woman was working her plot next to mine. "Hi there. You like bok choy?" I asked with a smile with wattage that would light up an auditorium. "Oh, I like to make stir fry," she said. "Great! Here you go!" and before she could say another word, I had tugged another out of the ground and held it to her startled face. She was overwhelmed by both its size and the gesture.
"Don't mention it!" I waved before I got in my car and drove off.
Three down, one to go. Here's hoping better luck in some of the other garden mates. In the past I never did find eggplant to have much of a strong taste....
