Sunday, July 9, 2017

Today I Say to You Unequivocally that Beets are Fucked Up

Shhhhhhhh . . . Go to sleep. I don't want to hear it. 

Beets are a super food like kale and quinoa; beets are a delicious root vegetable; beets are super trendy; beets make all natural Easter Egg dye; blah blah blah blah. Beets shmeets! (And, while we're at it, radishes schmadishes and turnips shmurnips)!

Now I will freely admit that beets have come a long way since my childhood, when I couldn't so much as look at a beet without gagging. Now I can eat them in small quantities on salad camouflaged amid many other things, just like their equally vile cousins, turnips and radishes, which at least have the benefit of good texture.

Not beets though. 

Beets are what my ancestors ate in the shtetl of Eastern Europe when they were lucky to have two stones to rub together for soup broth. I picture my great grandmother--who spoke only Yiddish, raised karp in a tenement bathtub, and wrung a live chicken's neck with her bare hands only to spend all day grinding it up into filling for kreplach (dumplings)--eating beets like it was her job.

I am sure there is an epigenetic aversion to beets in my DNA somewhere. Like there was so much fucking borscht in my Ashkenazi Jewish lineage, that along with fear of the BRCA-2 breast cancer gene and Tay-Sachs disease, there is a marked beet-o-phobia. (You don't even know what Tay-Sachs is, do you? Well then you're not Jewish and you don't need to eat beets)! 

Beets also play to the natural Jewish tendency toward hypochondria. Like I can't tell you how many times in the past ten years I have eaten beets (because again beets are everywhere) and the next day conclude that I am FULLY dying of colon cancer. 

And for what? Why did I need to have my super chill New Yorker cartoon and Donald Trump Twitter feed sesh interrupted with a rush of adrenaline and a flashing before my eyes of the health insurance hurdles and anxiety to come as I work to determine the source of profuse rectal bleeding?

The answer is I don't. 

I don't need beets, and beets don't need me, and the only thing the world needs less than beets is BEET CHIPS, "naked," or otherwise. 

Beet chips are the surest sign of the apocalypse since Ivanka Trump tried to find the answers to the world's problems in a pair of salt and pepper shakers at the G-20 summit in Hamburg.

Fuck off, beets!




1 comment:

  1. I just ate the BEST bowl of cold borscht at an amusement park in Poland. Seriously delish.

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