Dear readers, allow me to present to you the one plant in the Victory Garden that turns F.’s blood to ice.
F. confided in me just the other day that seeing the broccoli ripening is upsetting him. Every time he passes it, he gets chills.
This startling revelation caused me to laugh.
A lot.
I am such a heartless wife.
F. really does not appreciate most vegetables, unless they are cooked for over an hour with fatback or salt pork or ham bone or some other bit of the pig. And really, the more pork and fat in it, the better. When he first discovered true Southern cooking (not in my kitchen), his eyes lit up with wonder. Ever since that time, we’ve both been convinced that, when it comes to food at least, my Eastern European hubby is truly a good ol’ boy at heart.
As such, he’s convinced that broccoli was invented to torment him. And because I am a creature of habit, not to mention cruel [insert evil cackle here], I generally persecute him with steamed broccoli at least once per week. I love the stuff. In some seasons, I even crave it and would gladly eat it several times per week.
Which is one of the reasons I planted so much of it.
The other reason? The sight of ice-blue broccoli buds swelling is just… beautiful to me. They are especially lovely first thing in the morning with the dew still on them. Blue-green foliage is a favorite of mine in the garden, too, and this plant’s gorgeous, slightly wavy leaves come with one of my favorite vegetables attached.
How could I resist?
Well, easily, to tell you the truth.
I didn’t always feel this way about growing broccoli. For over a decade, I avoided growing it with the same zeal F. now devotes to avoiding eating it, all because of a bad first experience. When I was 20, I left my six baby plants alone for a weekend — that’s right, a mere two days and nights — in mid-spring, and came back to find only skeletons of the leaves left. It was my first wipe-out crop (and weirdly enough, this was back when I was still using pesticides), and it rattled me. I was not ready to repeat the experience.
But since then, I’ve realized that incident was relatively rare. I just got spectacularly unlucky with broccoli on my first try.
Now, however, it is F. who feels unlucky with broccoli, surveying the surfeit of healthy plants at all different stages of development, promising blue-green spears on our plates for weeks and weeks to come.








