Giving in to the desire for fresh fruits and vegetables (I swear I'm getting scurvy), I drop by the supermarket. I find a customer and a produce manager talking by the broccoli.
"Is this broc-CO-li?" she's trying to find out.
"No, ma'am, it's broccoli. We have crowns that have less stalk if you'd like that instead."
"Oh, I'm just not sure from the signs. But my recipe calls for broc-CO-li, it has a peppery flavor. I don't want broccoli. Is that broc-CO-li?" She points to the basket of broccolini.
"No, ma'am. That's broccolini. We have broccoli and broccolini. I don't think I've ever heard of 'broc-CO-li.' Are you sure—"
"Oh, yes. My cookbook calls for broc-CO-li, it's definitely not broccoli. It has a different taste, peppery, that's not the same as the broccoli I've been eating for seventy years." (Now here I think she's exaggerating her age in a brazen attempt to get little old lady treatment.) She indicates the sign for the broccoli crowns. "So is this broc-CO-li?"
"No, ma'am. That's broccoli crowns."
"Oh, well, it's spelled the same, that's why I asked."
184 words | April 21, 2005 08:30 PM | Real true story