There seemed to be only two types of asparagus when I was growing up, both of which required an etiquette of eating that almost defied me. The crushing embarrassment of getting it wrong often made me think twice about ordering it. Then having ordered it, what if the other people around the table weren’t party to this minutiae of manners and I then looked a fool?
I was brought up to eat asparagus with my fingers, picking up the juicy stems, whether white or green, as those were the only choices, and dipping them in melted butter or mayonnaise.
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