By: Melissa Zhao

Ah, the life of being a vegetable. Of waking up everyday with a new ambition. Waiting in the food closet. Waiting to be picked and put in the most delicious of delicious dishes. And sitting patiently, with a tingling feeling of excitement as sauce drips down your head, until someone lifts you to their mouth. Every new vegetable asks me, “Does it hurt?” Well, the answer’s no. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a pleasant tickling until you are finished, and your spirit hunts down another vegetable, and it starts over again.

I’ve already been many vegetables, from spinach and broccoli (yuck!) to some of the very best, like eggplants and tomatoes, which are technically fruits, but whatever. The vegetable department let it slide, so I’m not bothered. And today, I’m bok choy! I heard the chef say that he will make a Chinese dish using the bok choy, or me, tonight. I just can’t wait! Every time a meal is made with – ahem – me in it, the process is special, to me at least. It’s like the cooks are flying and throwing and tossing dishes all around me, creating a whirlwind of deliciousness.

After waiting the whole day, it’s finally time for dinner for the restaurant, which is one of their busiest times. If I do get picked, I’ll really miss the other ingredients. Thankfully, everyone finds a new food somewhere when they are finished, so I might meet their spirits again somewhere else.

The chef opens the door, and I wait with bated breath to see who he will choose. His arm reaches out for the mushrooms, then pulls back. Slowly, ever so slowly, his arm starts creeping toward me, until his fingers close around me, and I cheer, “Victory! I’m in the meal!” To him, it sounded something like, “Ewruif! Sqak ihk ohipjl!” and he muttered, “Rats. I’ll have to call the exterminator.” He then grabs a sausage beside me who sticks his tongue out at the others. His name is, well, Sausage, and right now, mine is Bok Choy.

Bringing me into the kitchen, familiar sights and smells meet my tingling nose and eyes, as gentle hands pull my fresh, green leaves apart as I laugh and giggle at the ticklish feeling. The smell of boiling tomato soup, filling the air with a sweet and savory scent, wafts toward me in waves. The sizzling sound of the stove being turned on combined with the whirl of confusion as the chef rushes around, getting things ready. Pieces of sausage fly through the air as Sausage hoots and whoops out loud. The chef looks confused, as everything probably sounds like gibberish to him.

However, he shakes his head and continues chopping up sausage into small, delicious pieces, and cuts me up into crunchy, light greens and soft, tender, dark greens. A whirl of small, discarded pieces of sausage fly past me in a beautiful arch like a rainbow, and land into the trash can.

Smiling, the chef turns on the stove and tosses my leaves and Sausage’s slices into the pot. Slowly, he starts flipping us and we laugh and yell as we fly into the air. The air rushes through my ears and I close my eyes, savoring the moment. After what feels like hours of flying, we are poured into a bowl, mixed up, and stirred with dark, salty, sauce. Finally, we are served under a soft light, and as I close my eyes for my last moments of being bok choy, I smile. The person scoops a spoonful and puts it in his big mouth, and I exhale, feeling the wetness surrounding me and pulling me down, down, into darkness.

I’m ready to move on.

Image Credit by Mark Stebnicki