Sunday, February 26, 2017
Imagine my surprise when, out on my own and grocery shopping, I found these little things that looked sort of like little tiny onions, only different. Very cheap, so I decided to try them. Sliced and sauteed in butter, their pungent aroma pervaded the house and the flavour was startling.
I still didn't realize this was the dread garlic. I shopped at an Asian market where English signs were infrequent at best.
My housemates were less than impressed, but, without knowing anything of the health benefits, I was probably the healthiest I had ever been. Pregnant, too.
My delight in garlic survived that pregnancy, where "morning sickness" was something of a conservative estimate of the amount of sickness I was feeling.
I still love it. Of all the things my parents grew, cooked, and ate, I can think of very few that garlic would not have improved. Even vegetable marrow, which was one of the vilest things I was ever forced to eat.
I don't think even garlic could have improved my attitude toward rice pudding, though.