“Unlimited Vegetables,” They Said

 "EAT AS MUCH AS YOU WANT," THEY SAID

When I first saw the words "Free Vegetables-Unlimited," I felt a rush of relief.

Unlimited? Awesome. Something generous. Something abundant. Something which doesn’t require a food scale and a calculator. I pictured mountains of crisp lettuce, covered with colorful bell peppers. A carefree salad lifestyle where I could nibble without consequences.

And then I read the list. As I begin to scroll the columns, my mouth puckered into what can only be described as nutritional skepticism. Let's just say my confidence dimmed somewhere between Bitter Leaf and Swiss Chard. Because apparently unlimited does not mean familiar, it means, “Have you ever considered foraging?”

Fiddlehead Ferns

Let's begin with Fiddlehead Ferns.

I had two immediate questions.

One: Is this decorative?

Two: Do I need to hike for it?

I'm fairly certain I've only seen fiddlehead ferns in nature documentaries or tucked beside a waterfall in a state park. I did not realize they were something one casually sautés on a Tuesday. But sure. Unlimited. Let me just grab my boots.

Bitter Leaf

Then there's Bitter Leaf.

It is bold enough to introduce itself with a warning.

Not "Savory Leaf."

Not "Delightful Leaf."

No - it leads with Bitter.

I admire the honesty. I question the marketing. Unlimited? Of the thing that announces itself as unpleasant? That feels less like freedom and more like character development.

Hearts of Palm

And then.. Hearts of Palm.

This one sounds expensive. Possibly imported. Potentially requiring a machete. Is this in aisle four? Or do I need to crack open a tropical tree in the backyard? Unlimited hearts of palm sounds glamorous. Until you remember you're standing in a Midwestern grocery store.

Dandelion Greens

The same plant we've spent years trying to eliminate in our yard is now...a side dish.

We've sprayed them.

Pulled them.

Judged them.

And now I'm supposed to saute them.

Spinach Shrinkage

After mentally rejecting anything that sounded like it required hiking boots, I did what any reasonable adult would do—I searched the list for something familiar. Something we had actually eaten before. Something that did not sound like it came with a warning label. Spinach. Ah, Finally. A vegetable we actually like.

Spinach feels safe. Familiar. Civilized. So I confidently purchased an entire box of fresh spinach- a big one. The kind that looks abundant and virtuous. I even de-veined it. Because if I'm committing to unlimited vegetables, I'm not crunching through stems like a barn animal. Into the steamer it went. An entire box. What emerged looked like a garnish. Two small, polite little piles. Three or four ounces each..if I was being generous. I stood there staring at the plate thinking, that can't be the whole forest.

The Reflex to Refuse

After the spinach evaporated and the carrots were weighed like gold bullion, I noticed something else. It wasn’t just the vegetables that surprised me. It was my reflex.

“I don’t eat that.”
“I won’t like that.”
“I’m not trying that.”

The list wasn’t arguing with me. My own assumptions were.

Unlimited vegetables weren’t the shock. Unlimited reconsideration was.

And I realized something mildly uncomfortable:
I have spent years thinking I know exactly what I don’t like.

Not based on experience.
Not based on trying.
But based on a decision I made somewhere between childhood and Tuesday.

I don’t eat bitter.
I don’t eat yard plants.
I don’t eat anything that sounds like it requires harvesting tools.

But maybe that reflex isn’t about vegetables at all.

Maybe it’s about identity.

“I’m not a greens person.”
“I’m not adventurous.”
“I don’t do that.”

It’s funny how quickly we defend a food preference as if it were a personality trait.

Unlimited vegetables weren’t just sitting there on a list.
They were quietly asking,
“Are you sure?”

And that question feels bigger than spinach.

That… might deserve its own post.

Sjodry and Foraging  🥬