So, as justification and completion of the half-torture, half-improvement that is this new exercise regimen, I've been poring over Misty's copy of Vegetarian Cooking For Everyone, and shaking my head at the amusement that inevitably follows.

If you ask me, I'll tell you that I'm not a picky eater. Really. As long as you don't try to feed me anything with cucumbers, that is.

Don't get me started on cucumbers. The smell: vile. The taste: vile. Texture? Vile. Net effect on salads? Vile. They have that nasty green skin, and ... ugh. Pickles are worse. Pickles are an abomination not to be tolerated on this planet. As someone who lives with me can attest, I may not like the smell of cucumbers, but the smell of pickles can make me flee a room.

See, I told you not to get me started on cucumbers. Nothing good comes of it!

Anyway. Really. In my mind, I'm a generous omnivore. My mind says, prepare it well, and chances are good I'll eat it.

Well, as long as it isn't a cucumber. Or a pickle. Or any melon. Nix the grapefruit too, it's icky. Cauliflower's like chewing plastic, and iceberg lettuce is like marking time with your jaws. Spinach has a weird flinty taste, and rhubarb's just kinda creepy. (The stems are edible but the leaves are poisonous? What is this, the fugu of the vegetable world?)

But don't ever say I won't try anything new. I have learned to appreciate the finer points of a well-prepared Brussels sprout.

That leaves me with most of the 'normal' vegetables, plus a few oddballs that I'm strangely, inexplicably passionate about: artichokes and asparagus. Ah, asparagus, the world's finest finger food. When there's no one around to witness the carnage, I'll boil the spears until tender and then eat them with my fingers. No utensil required.

Artichokes...quite possibly the world's most perfect vegetable. I can't even explain it; I don't even bother buying them for Jeff, because he doesn't care for them. Yum. More for me. Artichokes are snack food. Perhaps it's the thrill of playing with my food for a half-hour while I eat it. Perhaps it's the lovely mess they make. Who knows?

But I've been thinking lately that my standard vegetation grazing habits (broccoli, carrots, salads, artichokes, asparagus et al) could perhaps use a bit of broadening. Jump outside my comfort zone. Go slightly exotic, to foods that my mother would never dream of cooking. See if there's something I like.

Whyever I decided to go in the direction of bitter greens, I don't know. I've never had a culinary experience with a Belgian endive that went well, and most greens have an odd metallic taste to them that I don't understand, but the "thou shalt eat green leafy vegetables for they are good for you, nitwit!" edict kept thundering through my head.

To hell with it, I said. I'll try this recipe for chard. It's just greenery. It doesn't have teeth. If it sucks, we'll laugh about it, learn a lesson, and chunk the results.

But, of course, does Target have chard? No. The lesson for northeast Alabama culinary adventurists is this: be adventurous, but not too adventurous. We've got your baby spinach and your endive, but don't you go looking for that wacky frilly city lettuce, 'cause we don't have no truck with that kind around here.

I took home a batch of kale, muttering, "It's just greenery. It doesn't have teeth. People eat this sort of thing all the time. I can learn to like it."

Uh.

Yeah.

Right on there, sister.

Tonight's other culinary experiment - steamed carrots with a mustard+honey sauce - went surprisingly well. Good thing, because the kale could only be described as kale-licious in some other alternate universe. Five bites in, I knew two things:

One: this stuff might be decent with just garlic, but the cumin and paprika called for in the recipe were doing a world of nothing for me.

Two: if I ate even one more bite, that fluffy little cotton tail was going to become permanent.

I stopped after the fifth bite. I'd planned to finish it. Really. After all, I'm a determined omnivore, right? This from the woman who ate raw octopus and quail egg on a dare at a sushi restaurant; surely I could eat the damned greens and be done with it. (Ok, so the octopus was tasty, but chewy in that balding-tire sort of way, and the quail egg ... best forgotten.)

So much for my delusions of omnivorousness.

Still, the kale was kinda pretty. I doubt I'm ever going to learn to like it, and I'm not too sure I'll prepare it again, but at least I gave it a try. Perhaps spinach will seem lovely in comparison.

I get my new workout regimen from Laura tomorrow. Disregard any groaning noises you hear tomorrow night. I foresee dunking them in a tub full of hot water and four drops of jasmine oil tomorrow night. It's a useful thing to know. If you want to know if I'm aching, take a whiff. Smell jasmine? Then you know.