Pot Liquor

My grandfather always reminds me, when the subject of boiling vegetables comes up (which, between him and me, is not infrequent) not to throw away the resulting liquid. Never throw it away. It conains whatever vitamins have seeped out of the greens, and should not be dispensed with when the vegetables are cooked.

My father is equally adament on the subject, only while my grandfather prefers to sip a steaming mug of pot liquor, my father likes to cook pasta or rice in it. Same theory – it’s a crime to waste all those nutrients.

I succeeded in locating some broccoli rabe at a tiny vegetable store on Court Street just beyond Atlantic. I’d gotten used to being able to get it at the recently- defunct (soon to be a CVS) Key Food where my grandmother always shopped, but since it closed I haven’t had any luck.

I walked into the tiny vegetable store today on a whim, having grown used to striking out in my foraging for the green. I got the next to last bunch, along with a $2 box of blueberries (all the berries I’ve seen lately require a mortgage to purchase). Afterwards, I thought about the changes wrought on the neighborhood (Carroll Gardens) over my lifetime so far. Not the bigger ones, but the shoe gazer’s-view details.

I was relieved to see that the orange tree that has grown in its store-window micro-climate accross the street from The Cobble Hill Cinemas is, for now at least, still there.

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