Green Beany Goodness

I didn't think there was anything I didn't know about Andrew, he's pretty much an open book, I thought I could predict his behavior in any given situation after having lived with him over 14 years now.

Saturday night I learned something new.

Grace came home at eleven from a babysitting job and came up to our room to check in. Andrew and I were reading on the bed and I asked her how her job had gone.

"Fine. Except I had a hard time with dinner."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I ate dinner with the kids before their parents left and they had spaghetti and meatballs."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, except they had beans."

"But you're okay with beans aren't you?"

"Yeeeesss . . . but these weren't regular beans. They were from a can with that leafy green guy on the front."

Now I must stop here and explain that I've always had a problem with canned vegetables. Fresh, frozen, fricaseed, whatever but not canned--no vegetable should ever be canned. I repeat no vegetable. As my feelings are rather strong in this area my kids have never experienced the joys of wrinkly, grey peas or lifeless strings of what had once been beans.

I still have nightmares about coming home from school as a child and finding String Bean Casserole bubbling away in the oven--you know, that one with the Cream of Mushroom soup and canned string beans with crunchy somethings on top? And a note here in my mother's defense. She's a brilliant cook who is amazing in the kitchen, but she cooks very differently now than she did 30 years ago when she had less experience and money for groceries. Back then she wasn't the gourmet she is today and occasionally we had the dreaded S.B. Casserole.

If I was ever a contestant on Fear Factor this would be the thing they'd pull out to stump me. Cockroaches? Cow intestines? No problem, but I'd never make it past the S.B. Casserole.

But I digress. My kids know so little about canned vegetables that the Jolly Green Giant has been reduced to the "Leafy Green Guy." To continue with the conversation:

"So did you eat the green beans?"

"Yes, but they were horrible."

I nodded my head in agreement, completely understanding her pain. But this is the point where the conversation hopped tracks into a parallel universe. Andrew put down his book, looked up and said, "I like canned beans. They're good."

This simple statement from the man who won't look at a mushroom, who once told a woman he was allergic to tomatoes just to avoid tomato soup, who had never tried cream cheese until he'd met me, who picks through his dinner like he's the world's greatest archeologist on a dig LIKED CANNED GREEN BEANS? I mean they're not even legitimately green, more grey really.

My jaw went slightly slack as I stared. But wait, folks, there's more.

"Yea," he continued, "They're really good. When I was a kid I used to eat them cold out of the can." He picked his book back up and disappeared behind it as he said, "Then I'd drink the juice."

"WHAT?" I couldn't help myself. "You DRANK the Green Bean Juice?"

"Yea!" He'd gone back to his book as if it was the most natural beverage in the world, "It was good."

Grace and I were open-mouthed-staring-couldn't-believe-it. What does one say after that kind of a disclosure? If he'd told me he'd been raised by wolves it wouldn't have been more astounding. You think you know someone . . .

P.S. I guess it could be worse. When Andrew was out of law school he clerked for Judge Souter (no, not that Judge Souter) and the judge used to bring bananas to the office for a snack. Big deal you say? Well he would wait until the bananas were so black they had liquified inside their peels, then he would stick a straw in the top and slurp out the guts. Yes, we still talk about it.

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