Humor: Taking a leaf out for a good cook

Taking a leaf out for a good cook

Colourful nasturtiums used to grow wild in my garden when I was a bachelor but I swear I never ate them.

My memory of them came flashing back today when my wife Katherine came home from her parents' place with a bag of mystery ingredients.

"Close your eyes and open your mouth," Katherine commanded.

I did. But only because I thought that I was about to be rewarded for my obedience with some caramel toffees or coconut ice.

Instead, a small bundle of leaves was placed in my mouth.

"I bet you can't guess what that is?" Katherine said.

"I bet I can," I said quick as a flash. "It tastes like a nasturtium leaf."

I think Katherine was surprised by my accurate answer. I could not tell for certain because I still had my eyes closed. But she certainly looked staggered when I opened them.

In nearly eight years of marriage, this was probably the first time I had ever said the word 'nasturtium'.
I admit to having a few vices but gardening and uttering the name of 'nasturtium' in vain are not among them.

And, as far as I know, Katherine does not grow nasturtiums in our herb plot.

So how come I knew?

Well, before I was married I had lots of nasturtiums growing in my unkempt garden. Passers-by used to admire them. Or they would have done had I not lived near the end of a dead-end street and there were few passers-by.

Nasturtiums are self-seeding and, being a bit like water lilies, grew abundantly in a corner of garden that always seemed to be wet from the run-off from the top of the hill. They had bright yellow and orange blossoms with deep green leaves.

"You know," someone said to me at the time. "You can eat those. They taste peppery. They're good in salads but you can cook them too."

"Not me," I said, getting all macho. "I'm a bachelor. I only eat home-delivered pizza and baked beans on toast."

Besides, I was programmed by my parents at an early age not to eat strange things in the garden.
Like dirt.
Or leaves.
Or round sheep-poo pellets, sprinkled as fertiliser, that looked to a small boy tantalisingly like chocolate drops.

My father was a keen vegetable gardener but he only grew conventional things that, being a kid, I did not like, like beans and onions and peas and carrots.

Okay, I might have sneaked a taste of the nasturtiums when no one was looking.
I have always been adventurous person when it comes to food.
But I honestly cannot remember. I probably ate dirt as a crawling baby, too, and I use the same defence for that.

But I certainly knew the smell of the nasturtium leaves well when Katherine opened the bag. Very pungent. Very unforgettable.

"I'm right, aren't I?" I asked Katherine. "It is a nasturtium leaf?"

"Yes," said Katherine. "How did you know?"

"Just a good guess," I lied.

There are some things a man ought to never confess to his wife from his bachelor days.

NB: I called this site Dunno because I kept drawing a blank when I had to put a name to it