I don't like beans.

I also don’t like olives.

Or cilantro.

Or parsley.

Or mushrooms, unless they’re diced.

When I was a teenager, I would say “oh that’s not kosher” or “I’m allergic” as a defense. At some point in my adulthood, I started to accept that ‘picky eater’ is just a part of my identity. For a long time (including pregnancy) the healthiest meal I prepared for myself was a ‘Malka Quesadilla’. Mozzarella cheese and raw zucchini on flour tortilla, with almond butter & avocado added off the burner. 

But, I think maybe it’s time for beans?

Maybe.

I am not great in the kitchen. All my friends seem to move about the kitchen with ease. I ask them questions and monitor their movements in hopes of finding inspiration, but I just don’t get it. I try to copy their postures, but usually it's a disaster. 

One time I massaged kale for 45 minutes (instead of 4-5 min).

Another time, I made a raw cabbage salad. As in, I cut the cabbage into spinach-sized squares, threw them in a bowl, and tossed some raisins on top. 

I add…