It occurs to me that so far I’ve presented a sort of sterilized view of myself for NaBloPoMo, and I’ve decided that the only cure is to shock you out of your complacency by telling you something very personal.
After a day of soul-searching I think I’ve finally seized on the right detail; something deep and secret that Elise only knows by virtue of living with me for the past three years.
I don’t like hot food.
It’s not that I like to eat all food raw, although given my mostly vegetarian state I certainly wouldn’t mind being left with a diet of hummus and sushi, since that’s practically my desert island ideal.
I do like things braised, or blackened, or melted. I just don’t want to eat them while they’re hot. I don’t like the way flavors work in hot food. I don’t like how it feels on my tongue. And, I don’t tend to slowly savor it.
Just about any hot food you can name I prefer cold. Pizza, for sure. Back in my more omnivorous days, any sort of chicken. Pasta dishes, out of habit, especially lasagna or creams that won’t separate.
Chinese food, categorically. Fish, increasingly. Hot dogs, even.
The list goes on.
There are few specific exceptions to my rule. Drinks, for one, are categorically excepted. Frequently so are french fries (or, at least, they aren’t the same after they’re refrigerated). Anything with over 50% of its volume as eggs, which includes some quiches and mega-french toast are excused on the basis of texture. Food that is primarily liquid, like broth-based soup, is often an exception (though there are some hot soups I prefer cold). And, I find red meat especially distasteful cold, thought it’s pretty much always distasteful as far as I’ve ever been concerned, and I don’t plan on eating it ever again, so the point is moot.
Also, I admit that there’s a certain thrill to certain foods being warm. Warm breads and pastries, those are always a treat.
On the whole, though, I prefer 90% of the culinary world straight from the refrigerator.
There you go; deep, meaningful, previously secret aspects of my life out there for the whole world to read. Never mind that in the last post I snuck in a confession about my deep-seated fear of navy blue. Plus, I rambled in a sort of personal way during Trio.
Hmm, maybe this NaBloPoMo hasn’t been as superficial as I thought…