Canned beets never go bad. There is something mystical about a perfectly formed beet. To some, sliced beets are sacrilegious. I beg to differ. Beets in any form are a wonder to be worshiped. I believe when God got to rutabagas He decided to take a break and refresh His creative impulses. When He returned, He came up with beets.
I have proud red juice stains on my shirts. I need to consume my beets slower and more carefully to savor the exquisite taste. During winter I stock up in case I'm snowed in. Very rarely do I share my beets with neighbors. I'm compassionate, but there are boundaries.
Interestingly, also in my basement are six elderly folks I've also been hoarding. I feed them well and one gave me an excellent beet recipe. Sometimes I crush my beets and mix them in yogurt. I test my concoctions on Fred, my terrier. He seems fine, but pees red.
I'm growing my own beets now. One needs a purpose in life. My family doesn't understand me. Value is where you put it. A French philosopher said that. I'll bet he loved beets.
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