Taste
Lily was doing her maths homework. The assignment was an algebraic problem and she was finding it hard to concentrate and find a solution. It was already 7pm and she hadn’t had dinner - Mom was in the next room getting ready to go out.
Tonight was her Mom Zelda’s first internet date and Lily had pushed her into going. Looking at the photo together on the internet website a few nights ago they had agreed that the man in question a certain “Steve” looked quite nice and could be just the type of man her mom needed in her life. Since her parents had divorced, Lily worried about her Mom. Her Dad had found a new partner almost immediately and he seemed happy enough. It was funny Lily thought that her parents happiness was essential to her well being. Dad had changed since he had met his new companion - more open about things, gave his opinion whereas before he had held back avoiding conflict in the family and more importantly now he was back to cracking his old jokes and laughed a lot.
Lily being an only child was perhaps hyper sensitive and only felt comfortable when Zelda was in a good mood. These days it wasn’t that often. Mom in a bad mood meant nothing in the fridge, cigarettes left in the ashtray to leaving a stale smell in the house, wildly coloured oil paintings half finished and empty wine glasses scattered around and drying up like riverbeds. When Zelda was in depressed mode Lily often found her when she got home from school, still in her pyjamas, just as if she had got out of bed - Lily worried then, her school grades dropped, she sank to the bottom of the class, she stopped eating properly and her best friend avoided her as she was so pre-occupied with herself and her family.
Her Mother had a lot of qualities but as most artists she was an eccentric and the way she dressed sometimes made Lily feel embarrassed at school events and even walking into town.
Her clothes were all over the place and if it wasn’t purple trousers with a tartan shirt and fur lined hat on a hot summers day it was a summer dress in the middle of winter with stiletto heels and striped ankle socks in the ice.
Listening to her Mother get ready for this important night out Lily thought carefully about how she could approach the subject of her dressing more carefully, putting colours together, staying casual but smart so as not to frighten off the man in question. Although listening through the thin partition that separated her bedroom from her mothers she could hear that the dressing process was already well on the go
Mother was humming a song in the next door bedroom - trying to concentrate on her homework she couldn’t help hearing the psst psst of perfume, the clunk of shoes as they were thrown out of the closet, the rummaging round for a suitable bag and the clank clank of jewellry and she imagined her mom picking and choosing which pair she would wear so she sat calmly waiting to see the outcome. Her Mom had style that was for sure and she had learnt in college that style meant individuality and she admired her for that even though it was a bit wacky.
The doorbell rang -OMG it was “him” and he was early and she hadn’t had time to check out the way her Mom was dressed …. It was too late now and she watched helpless as Zelda ran downstairs to greet her new date and horrified she caught a glimpse of her Mother in pink leggings, high heeled sparkly boots and red leather jacket with fringes, dragging a purse by its rhinestone chain down the stairs. At the same moment through the glass front door she glimpsed a shadow of purple shades mellowing in yellow and red stripes
Sizing up the purple coat, red trousers and yellow black spotted scarf this man called Steve was wearing; she knew instinctively that her Mom had met her match. They had the same taste in clothes that was for sure.
Annemarie's contribution:
Taste
The first taste for most people will have been mother’s
milk. No choice really until you begin solids and at an early age you take
control over your own eating habits, when can throw your food about, spit it
out or squish it around the plate until , hopefully, you learn a few manners.
It is surprising how quickly our tastes make themselves known, some of due to
culture, some to individual taste.
Hindu babies progress to dahl and lentils,
African babies to mashed bananas and in our daughter's case her first solids
were liver pâté which was all the fashion and being an ignorant mother I had no
idea it was far too strong for a little baby. (She is now a vegetarian- I
wonder why?) Our son on the other hand had a predilection for Brussels sprouts;
it was his first birthday meal and for each following birthday until one day
chez his grandmother, having said he loved them, he was served a plate of muddy
green coloured objects cooked for 30 minutes, so bitter he never came back to
sprouts again. (He is now a dedicated carnivore). Yes, even in families
children have wildly different appreciation of meals which have been slaved
over a hot stove by their parent.
A bitter pill, sour grapes - phrases we use to describe
unpleasant tasting experiences. Bitterness is often an indication in
nature of poisonous plants and sourness of rotting food and our evolution
was aided by taste, by which we tested the foods. There are people in malarial
infested parts of the world who tend to carry a gene which makes them less sensitive
to some bitter compounds such as those containing cyanide. Scientists speculate
that cyanide ingested at low levels fights malarial parasites without harming
the host.
'More flies are caught with honey than with vinegar' - true
for flies and in our human world sugar and salty foods produce positive
sensations and are prevalent additives, together with fats, in manufactured
foods, leading to global health problems. In nature there is no natural food
that combines both fat and salt. Who doesn't love a cheese-melting slice of
pizza or a 'Dunkin Donut' oozing raspberry jam?
Of course taste only fully works if the nose cooperates,
which explains why as a child my nose was held whilst swedes were '
choo-choo-ed down the track and into the tunnel' that was my objecting
mouth. Generally speaking if it smells bad it tastes bad!
Test and taste - close sounding words but taste is
indeed used to test food. 'Just try it, just a little bit,' says mum or dad and
a little pink tongue hesitantly pokes out and just touches the morsel on the
end of the fork. “Eurrgh! disgusting!” says junior. Yes 'the proof is in the
pudding' - you need to taste it to know if it's good or bad even though your
nose may be wrinkling for a 'no'.
Sometimes it is merely the texture, the feel of the
food that is repellent. I mean, how can an entire nation savour 'andouillettes'? Not only do they smell
repellent (the andouillettes not the nation!) but the tubes and
bits of mangled innards resemble the remains of the tasty mouse my cat has
crunched her way through. And there are worse foods - eyeballs, tripe,
trotters, tête de veau and that's
just Europe. Be suspicious of funny names!
Ladies fingers - why such a name for these slimy morsels of vegetables and Rocky Mountain oysters have never been
near the sea, they’re deep-fried testicles of young bulls. A-ping sounds jolly
enough well it is fried
tarantula on a stick and that’s candy to a Cambodian. If you can't pronounce
the food steer well away - Surstrumming
- fermented herring from Sweden and one of the most putrid-smelling foods in
the world…. Paula, are you still with us??
You have to feel sorry for a small number of people who
suffer from lexical-gustatory synaesthesia. When they hear certain words they
experience random and often unpalatable taste associations. One nineteen year
old woman tastes rotten food when she hears the word 'puce' or she tastes
cement on hearing the word 'thrills'. Too many words and she suffers sensory
overload leading to panic attacks.
But 'tastes bad' is not the same as 'bad taste'. No,
not at all the same thing. Who is the arbiter of what is good or bad
taste? Three flying ducks on one's living room wall is considered bad taste by
some but should you be rich enough to acquire it, would hanging the masterpiece
“L'Origine du Monde” by Gustave Courbet, over your mantelpiece constitue
good or bad taste? Personally I would rather Courbet's work of art -
spread legs and female genitalia - remained in the Musée d'Orsay, whilst
I sat sipping tea with the vicar gazing at three ducks.
Have you ever tut-tutted over a joke in bad taste? Or did
you laugh hysterically? I suppose it depends where and when it's told.
There are amongst us some who have a taste
for chocolate and champagne but others who have a taste for fast cars (or fast
women); you may have a taste for opera and ballet whilst others have a taste
for dressing up as women or being chained to bedposts. Who knows?
As the saying goes 'there’s no accounting for taste.'
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