Way back in the 1900s, when I was but a tyke, I used to marvel that a head of broccoli looked like a little tree. Then I noticed that each stalk of that head was like the whole head in miniature and that each floret at the end of a stalk was like the stalk itself. From there I imagined each bud that composed the floret was itself like the floret that was like the stalk that was like the bunch that was like a tree. I wondered then if each bud would have its own stalks, florets, and buds. About this time my revery would be broken by my parents.

“Jimmy! Stop picking at your food.”

I must confess that I had similarly incisive commentary to offer on cauliflower.

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