Camille commentary

I wrote a story a while back about how it took true love (of my husband) to get me to try asparagus after years of having mushy overcooked asparagus. He cooks it crisp and crunchy, roasted in olive oil and garlic. The kids pick up the spears and eat them like candy.

Well, though Herb learned most of what he knows about cooking from his dad — a stellar cook in his own right — Herbert Sr. was raised a Southerner, and like most Southerners, cooks vegetables like asparagus and broccoli until they cry out in pain and expire. We were there a couple of weeks ago and it was one of the items for dinner. Camille was asking for more mac & cheese, but I told her she had to eat more of the chicken and asparagus on her plate first.

"But it’s WET," she said, picking up a limp spear with a grimace. "And it’s nasty." 

I held it in then — out of respect for Herbert, who I adore — but when I told Herb later, we laughed until we nearly cried.

On another subject, we were on the way home from school today when she said, "I’m sorry Rosie passed out."

"You mean, passed on, honey?" (Rosie is our recently deceased goldfish.)

"Yes," Camille said thoughtfully. "She’s in Fishland now."