Where I come from, we call that ‘ham and mother****ers’.
Not that I don’t like it, actually. Unless it comes out of a green can, and is eaten cold while I’m sitting in the rain somewhere.
Anybody else remember wondering about Eunice King and her fabled kitchens?
Okra: Nope, and no, I don’t care how it’s prepared. And no- not your way, either.
Broccoli: Yup. Bring me more. Hot, with some salt and butter, thanks.
Brussels sprouts: Pass, thanks. Never cared for them, although I was compelled to eat hundreds of the things in my childhood.
That’s what I call it too!
My Father picked up a liking for it in the Army and Mom would make Ham and Mother@*#%ers once a week for my entire childhood.
I have been warped ever since do to the trauma of it all.