Some days I hear phrases and even though I've heard them thousands of times I finally get it. A few months ago my parents cribbage club challenged the younger generation of cribbage players to a competition. So last night, 16 people headed to my parents house for the inaugural 'Youngins vs. Oldies' match. My mom and dad got some tasty honey baked ham and turkey for sandwiches and everyone else brought for the pre-game potluck. Donna brought some yummy homemade pickles that her mom's boyfriend makes and along with her canned goodies she had a jar of pickled beets. Now, I have had pickled beets a handful of times on a Greek salads but this was the first time I have had them plain and they were, well, they were beets. They were decent. But most of all, they were beautiful! I found that pink color that radiates from a can of beats to be incredibly gorgeous. Donna gave me the idea to make a pretty little 'beet martini' and as some of you may know, it's rare that I'll turn down a) an odd combinations of food and b) a martini.
As I stuck my finger in the juice to sneak a little taste to see if I should make the move to grab the bottle of vodka I noticed something strange... Although I had licked the juice clean off my finger, my tip was still pink! Quite pink. That's when my mom (and all her wisdom) pointed out how I would be a moron to drink a beet martini because my teeth would certainly turn that same color. Thanks, mom.
DING DING DING. That's where the epiphany happened. My finger was - pause for dramatic effect - beet red.
For the record, I did look this up to make sure it wasn't just my mind jumping to conclusions and it appears I was right - that really is the origin of the phrase beet red. And all this time I've been saying beat red...