An Acquired Taste

Every once in a while I hear the term, “Acquired Taste.” This is reserved for things that are so dreadful at first sampling that one must repeat the pain of endurance of whatever it is until we are desensitized to its disagreeable nature.

I’ve listened to music that was an acquired taste. I drink Campari, but I really draw the line at food; especially health food.

I once had some friends who were deeply into natural food which was for the most part tasteless mush with a Hindi name. One night they served a dessert bread after the meal. I took a bite and I nearly vomited. I spat it out. They both looked at me as I asked, “What the hell is that, tobacco bread?”

They laughed and told me what it was, which sounded more like a yoga pose than something someone would stick in their mouths. It was revolting to say the least.

This event was yet another nail in the coffin for my never wanting to eat in public, and this is really getting in the way of being normal.

I have a big speaking engagement coming up. This small organization is paying me big bucks to come to their part of the world to do an all day lecture class. They are very excited and have been preparing for this event for months. They already have sixty people registered and are expecting ninety to a hundred people all together. They’ve invited me to join a group of them for dinner after the lecture, and I can’t tell them I hate eating around people and being around people who are eating. I must be gracious and suck it up. I’m sure I’ll be tricked into eating some sort of regional swill that they have been eating since their ancestors plowed with mules. They take it for granted, but it is an acquired taste for anyone from anywhere else.

Yeah, yeah, I can hear you all laughing...