Okra

I used to think of okra as green noses full of snot. That's because long ago I had a bad okra day. In the convent I ate canned okra. Gag.

But yesterday at the farmers' market I was buying black-eyed peas. The woman in a straw hat asked if I wanted okra too. No, thank you. The couple beside me said in unison, "You can't buy peas without okra." Can too! I said. Then everyone started telling me how to cook it: Boil the peas and rest whole okra, ends tipped, on top and cook lightly. Or cook onions and hamburger and tomatoes. Add okra. Or make gumbo. So I gave in. Last night I made their hamburger recipe, with a dash of lemon juice, a couple sprigs of thyme, and chopped green peppers, with enough water to make it soupy. I used lowest-fat hamburger and winged the amounts, except for precisely cutting the okra into 3/8" slices (I read that in the recipe for shrimp and crab okra gumbo from The New Orleans Cookbook.) Simmered for 2 hours, adding okra for the last hour. Served it over rice. It was good.