Wouldn’t ‘Get the Bitter Out’ be a great title for a motivational speech?
Actually it’s a kitchen hint. My mother showed me how to get the bitter out of a cucumber. I showed my husband. He pooh-poohed.
I told him the one time I refused to obey my mother, the cuke tasted bitter. Coincidence, he says.
It remains a source of contention.
Maybe my presentation is wrong. Maybe I SHOULD convince doubters with a bit of peppy persuasion. How’s this:
Friends, has bitterness ever crept into your cucumber? Has it ruined your potato salad? Blighted your veggie tray? Don’t be deceived. Bitterness can lurk in the heart of the loveliest of cukes. It tantalizes and tempts you. It urges you to hurry. HURRY! Wash, slice and eat quickly!
But then–then. The tempter turns bitter on your tongue. It not only tastes bad itself. It makes everything else taste bad.
Don’t let a little bitter go a long way, dear friends.
Let me share how I was able to get the bitter out of my cucumbers.
You can too.
You need to be bold. You need a knife. A sharp knife. Don’t give into ‘grab a butter knife’ lethargy.
Grasp the cucmber firmly in one hand. With zeal and purpose, slice–yes, I said slice–show no mercy! the end off the cuke.
But beheading the veggie isn’t enough! The bitter is still in there, hoping you will quit with the job half done.
SEIZE that end. Clutch the cuke. Rub the end vigorously on the cucumber and see the bitter, unable to resist, become visible.
And then, WASH IT AWAY my friends.
Don’t let a little bitterness contaminate your greens. Be bold and strong and banish it to your septic tank or city waste treatment plant.
And may all your cucumbers be sweet.
Maybe it was coincidence that the one time I didn’t get the bitter out, the cucumber tasted bad. Maybe the same thing happened to my mother and her mother before her. Maybe I come from a long line of coincidentally cucumbered women.
Maybe. Maybe I won’t get the bitter out of my next cuke. But if it tastes bad I’m feeding it coincidentally go to my husband.