I used to find couscous about as appealing as a mouthful of hot sand. Somehow, food manufactures managed to create a product both mushy and dry simultaneously, with a flavor profile lingering between corrugated cardboard and sawdust.
It’s so easy to blame a faceless corporate entity for my couscous contempt.
I’ve changed though!
We had a rhubarb plant when I was a kid. It was tucked somewhere in the side yard, between the big vegetable garden and the lanky-limbed pine tree. When we weren’t climbing that tree, my brother, Jeff and I liked to perform ritual vegetable sacrifices.