These are Mung beans. You know… what you make bean sprouts out of. It took me a while to find them: they don't sell these just anywhere. And then I had to modify a jar to sprout them in. I put them in and wet them down and they sprouted perfectly! I was so proud of them. And then I discovered something. When you’re into plants – I mean, really into plants, like I am, you know: you talk to them, they talk back, that kind of thing – when you’re into plants like that… It’s damn near impossible to eat them. How can I take little ittybitty sprouted seedlings, tiny newborn babies, and throw them into a stir fry? Babies I watered lovingly that morning, when – for all they knew – they had their whole lives ahead of them? They were my plants and I, their god. Then suddenly: Wham! Sizzling oil! Roasted flesh! Watching them wilt. Seeing them suffer. Surely that can’t feel good. And raw on salad? Well… that’s just eating them alive. I can’t do it. I just…. can't.