I’ve spent a lifetime struggling to like peas. My aversion to this vegetable started early, when my mother opened that first store-bought can of them. Withered and grayish-green, they resembled one of the oldest vegetables in existence, which, in fact, they are. Robbed of their natural sweet succulence as well as any helpful seasonings, they likewise tasted as though they’d hung out in their can for centuries. Had my subsequent experiences been tastier I may not have loathed peas so. Yet, each time I forced down spoonfuls of these bland, boiled terrors, I came to the same conclusion—nothing, not even the addition of cheery yet eerily symmetrical carrots, could make me like these shriveled veggies. Things became complicated when I married a man who loved my nemeses. On paper I could see why he liked them. Chocked full of vitamins A and C, niacin, iron, fiber and protein, they’re highly healthful. They also have a huge following, one which claims that, when plucked fresh from the garden, peas are sweet, crisp and utterly delightful. Unfortunately, …