Aren’t our tastes, in so many ways, perverse? I love tomatoes, cooked. Stewed tomatoes, baked tomatoes, tomato sauce, ketchup, you name it, I love tomatoes. What I don’t like at all are tomatoes by themselves. Plain. Off the vine. Can’t stomach the texture, hate the taste.
The same goes for marshmallows. I could eat a bagful of them as they are – fluffy, chewy, pure sugar delight. Put them on a stick and hold them over a fire until they start to melt, not so much. Smush them between crackers, add some chocolate and give ’em a cute name like s’mores and still no. Pass me by and hand me a brew instead.
Isn’t that the way with people too? We think we like outgoing people, for instance, until it’s a kind of outgoing that’s just loud. Some prefer those with a gentler nature, those eager to listen and learn from the largesse of their experience. But when they don’t engage in conversation enough to draw out your brilliance, then perhaps they’re just dull.
I remark on this because our perversions become more pronounced as we get older. I’m not sure if that’s due to a more refined taste or a lack of desire for new acquisitions. What I am sure about is that calamari must be breaded and fried, soup must be hot, water must be cold, and tea must be British. So there.