I’m omnivorous with girth as proof, and a gourmand of the garden. Is there a vegetable I cannot stomach?

 Give me artichokes and arugula, asparagus, beets, and beans of all kinds. I love bok choy and broccoli, and brussel sprouts (yes, even brussel sprouts), cabbage, carrots, and cauliflower. I delight in collards, and eggplant; peas, kale, leeks, and parsnips.

Give me every squash, and spinach, and yams. I’m happy with them all…  But, alas, there is one vegetable the very thought of which makes my throat constrict, my intestines roil and stomach convulse.

It’s okra. Disguised in flavorful batter and deep fried in garlic doesn’t count. You can get most anything past your palate with the right accompaniments, but straight boiled okra… The very word, let alone the vegetable, starts that bowel curdling retch. It’s the texture, the hairiness, the gelatinous interior, the seeds, the fibrous husk… Yuck, and double yuck! Even the most otherwise wonderful Southern dishes can’t hide it.

 There. I’ve confessed. It’s okra, cursed okra…