eat your greens

"No, no, no," Sage said, picking through her serving of chop suey at dinner last night. "I don't like this, or this, or this..."

"How can you not like that?" I asked, pointing at one of the summarily-rejected items. "That's baby corn; it's yummy."

"That's not corn," Sage replied, peering at it suspiciously.

"It's not exactly corn," her father tried to explain. "It's like corn, but it's small. It's just as yummy, though."

"It's baby corn," I repeated.

"Then where," Sage demanded, with an air of triumph, "is the Daddy Corn and the Mommy Corn?"