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As a child Idespised the asparagus my mother served. It was steamed to a dreadfully
pathetic wilt and tasted, I assumed, no better than the old grass
clippings trapped in the blades of the lawn mower. Only until I decided
to overcome my own fear of these precocious green stalks did I come to
fully appreciate them. Now every spring I prepare them the same way –
lightly sauteed in a bit of
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