The Beauty (?) of Broccoli

I have come to the conclusion that my parents are psychic. That may sound silly, but here's why. They always told me to eat my vegetables, especially my broccoli....and now I see why.

I know my parents weren't the only ones out there to make that common threat at the dinner table, you know the "no-dessert-till-you-eat-your-broccoli" threat. It didn't matter if you had chopped it up into tiny little pieces and spread it around the plate, trying to hide it in the little bits of other food you left. Oh no, they had broccoli-sensing radar. Don't misunderstand me, I loved some vegetables. I would eat an entire box of spinach at the dear old age of 2. And butternut squash or asparagus - bring it on! But broccoli...the moldy-sock, sweaty-foot smell of it overcooked and simmering still makes my stomach turn when it's oozing through the halls at school.

We live in the age of genetically-altered everything. Turkeys that are raised to have more white meat for Thanksgiving, oranges that have no seeds, corn that is able to withstand pests better than it should. Scientists, here's your project for that Nobel Prize you're trying to win: infuse the goodness of broccoli into yummy-tasting vegetables (or anything, really) so I don't have to eat it, but can still avoid cancer, arthritis, and prescription medication for stomach infections.