“Drop a beat” is something I hear several of my composition students say, or “don’t miss a beat,” but there’s also “Just Beat It” from the Michael Jackson era, or Taylor Dayne’s “With Every Beat of My Heart,” or “You Can’t Stop The Beat,” the huge ending production number in the stage version, HAIRSPRAY.

But, this post is about beets.

My cousin, Dana, loves beats and often writes about them on social media.

It’s only been about five years that I’ve developed a liking for red beets. Mother and I were dining at a wedding reception and the salad contained a pickled beet. I tried it and amazingly liked it.

When I was just getting started on Gerber’s baby food or anything Mother processed, my father came home for lunch and decided he would feed me. On my little glass jar menu were strained beets. Mother said I grimaced with the first taste but continued to accept more spoonfuls delivered by my father. My parents did not realize I was storing them in my mouth and cheeks and not swallowing the bites.

Suddenly, I had enough and blew the entire mouthful of beets into my father’s face and all over his starched white shirt. I believe that was the last time I tasted beets until the wedding reception.

Several years ago, one of my student’s moms, Nicole Melin, who was always bringing me food or homemade soups, brought me her style of beats with ricotta cheese and crushed nuts. I loved them.

For the past several months, I have been enjoying canned beets, especially with my salads. I can devour an entire can in one sitting. I usually eat them as they are, but now and then will scoop them in with my cottage cheese.

So. There you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen. I like beets.