Select one you thought you hated. Every card shows the childhood failure mode, the best redemption method, full timings for every route, and why it works now.
Boiled to grey-green collapse, stalk and florets reduced to uniform mush in unsalted water.
Boiled to watery disintegration, white florets collapsing into milky nothing, drained and served unseasoned.
Boiled to sweet orange mush, cut into coins or batons, cooked until fork slides through without resistance.
Boiled from frozen to grey-green bullets, served in a puddle of cooking water, spooned onto the plate as an obligation.
Boiled to gluey, waterlogged collapse; or mashed to wallpaper paste with margarine and a splash of milk.
Boiled to wet, fibrous string — the water penetrates but the fibres hold, producing a texture that is somehow both mushy and stringy.
Boiled to fibrous, oversweet collapse — the woody core remains while the outer flesh disintegrates into sweet water.
Boiled to bitter, waterlogged cubes — the dense flesh absorbs water and releases sulphur, producing pale orange cubes that taste of nothing and regret.
Boiled to sulphuric, translucent slime — the kitchen fills with the smell, the leaves collapse into ribbons of pale green nothing, and the cooking water is poured down the sink like evidence disposal.
Boiled to bitter, leathery submission — the leaves darken to near-black, the stalks remain woody, and the whole thing tastes of punishment.
Boiled to dark-green sludge, squeezed into a grey ball, served as a wet mound that leaks green water across the plate.
Boiled to stringy, squeaky oblivion — the strings were never removed, the pods were cooked whole, and they squeaked against your teeth like rubber.
Boiled to grey, leather-jacketed bullets — the outer skin toughens, the inner bean turns mealy and grey, and you were expected to eat the skins.
Boiled to translucent, watery collapse — the slices turn glassy, release their water into the pan, and arrive on the plate as hot, wet nothing.
Fried to blackened oil sponge — sliced thick, dropped into insufficiently hot oil, absorbing every drop until it becomes a greasy, bitter, collapsing slab. Or: never encountered, just intimidating.
Boiled to flaccid, skin-peeling nothing — or stuffed with wet rice and baked until the pepper collapses into a sad, wrinkled cup of bland.
Refrigerated to mealy, flavourless cotton — the cold destroys the flavour compounds, the texture turns grainy, and it sits on the side of the plate as a pink, watery afterthought.
Thick-cut to watery boredom, served as a mandatory side-salad obligation — never transformed, never seasoned, just wet slices on a side plate.
Boiled to slimy green ribbons, served in a white sauce that split — the outer layers turned to gelatinous strips while the core stayed fibrous.
Boiled to sulphuric grey bombs, cross-cut base and all — the exterior disintegrates, the interior stays hard, and the whole house smells of overcooked brassica for hours.