Hide your vegetables. You’re an adult
The other day, I grated two enormous zucchini into a bowl containing a quarter-can of pumpkin, brown sugar, cocoa powder and enough chopped bittersweet chocolate to make the whole operation look suspiciously like brownie batter. Which, essentially, it was. The zucchini disappeared almost immediately, leaving behind only a few green flecks and the vague knowledge that somewhere beneath all that chocolate was a respectable amount of produce. In Chicago, we have a phrase for what happens to a hot dog after it has been loaded with tomatoes, onions, peppers and pickle: it’s been “dragged through the garden.” I had, apparently, dragged my brownies through the garden. When I sent the recipe to a friend, she replied, “I wish I could say I was making these for my toddler to hide his vegetables. But I’m making these for me to hide my vegetables!” This struck me as both very funny and strangely revealing. Hiding vegetables is a technique we tend to leave behind somewhere around the age of dino nuggets and mashed-potato volcanoes. Eventually, adulthood is …









