I am not opposed to vegetables in principle. They are delicious. But I have this peculiar thing about cooked vegetables: hatred. Burning, seething, barking-mad hatred. Raw, I love them. Cooked, they bring back every moment in childhood where a cooked carrot hit my mouth and the gag reflex kicked in so strongly I thought I’d heave everything I’d eaten since Thanksgiving.
Does this not suggest the human body knows better than to eat cooked carrots? It’s not as if they grow near lava pools, after all. Nothing is as tasty as a carrot pulled from the ground, washed off at the pump, and eaten right there under the sun. Mmm. Mmmm.
But cooking them . . . and then preserving them . . . against this I must raise my voice.
Let us examine the brief for the other side.