I don’t like bean sprouts.
I mean, not at all. Not even a little bit.
I was kept in from many a recess in elementary school because I refused to eat them. I’d file down to the cafeteria, unaware that bean sprouts were part of that day’s hot lunch menu. Even as a kid, I remember hanging my head at each bean sprout encounter. The rule was eat everything on your plate or no recess. And I would eat it all but the bean sprouts, and spend the rest of lunchtime staring down at them with the white hot passionate hate of a thousand burning suns.
And as an adult, I try to avoid them as much as possible. I can honestly say I have never purchased bean sprouts. Sure, they come with every Japanese Grill menu item, which means whenever I eat at a Teppan style restaurant, I take great joy at shoving them to the side of my plate.
“I’m all grown up now, bean sprouts. You no longer have any power over me.”
Yes, I really dislike bean sprouts, with every fiber of my being and to the depths of my soul.
But here’s the thing…I don’t dislike the people who happen to like them.
See where I’m going with this?
xoxo
