An ode to mushrooms

A long time ago, I did not like you.

I thought you were slimy; you made me think ‘Ew.’

But then I grew up, and my taste buds matured.

When waiters ask “Do you want mushrooms with that?” — I answer “Sure!”

I put you in salads, chop you up for spaghetti.

When my husband grills steak, only with mushrooms on top do I think it is ready.

In omelets and burger toppings, meatloaf and soup –

Rarely do I put you in something, taste it and think “Oops.”

So thank you, dear mushrooms, for not giving up on me –

And now, to celebrate, I think I shall eat thee.

(Robert Frost has nothing on me!)

(And yes, I used to hate mushrooms. Not anymore! I sautéed some for pork chops tonight with a little whiskey and butter. Yum!)

(I shall compose a poem to green — and red and yellow and orange — peppers someday. Sadly, though, I will never write one for tomatoes.)

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