2015. That’s the last time green beans were in our house. That’s the last time I steamed them. And the last time I served them. Haven’t eaten them since. I don’t even look at them in the grocery store or at the farmers market any more.
Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing better than a order of Loubiyeh from the Lebanese Food Festival. But that’s not the same thing. And we love haricots vert, which aren’t the same things either.
Those of you who have followed The Scottie Chronicles for a while know exactly why green beans are not allowed in our house. (If you’re curious, drop a note in the comments and ask. I’ll tell you. And maybe some longtimers will respond, too.)
When Sherlock’s peeps texted that they had one haul of a garden harvest last week that they’d like to share, the Dad Peep said, “Hecka. Yeah!”
I almost cried. But as with most things in life, all things happen for a reason. And Sherlock must have decided that it’s OK to bring back the beans.
Stuart, the king of green beans, would be pleased. He’s probably wondering why it took so long.
It’s time for me to eat them again, too.