Olives
I have had a long history with the olive.
I wanted to love them. I love the oil they make. I find myself jealous of the rapturous cries of friends as they bite into a particularly delectable olive.
They are such a pretty looking, savory treat.
Every few months, I would try one and once again, find that I still wasn't a fan. The slightly bitter, overly briny flavor would turn me off.
I would leave the table disappointed.
I would pick out the olives from a tasty tagine once I had reached my limit.
Then, while visiting friends in NY, I was introduced to a fresh, Provencal olive.
It was like a light-bulb had gone off. NOW I understood! Now, I got it!
I came home convinced that I would love olives.
Well, I was wrong. I like some olives. The sliced things from a can are still disgusting, but I am finding myself more enamored.
Me = Happy.
The End. Or is it?
I wanted to love them. I love the oil they make. I find myself jealous of the rapturous cries of friends as they bite into a particularly delectable olive.
They are such a pretty looking, savory treat.
Every few months, I would try one and once again, find that I still wasn't a fan. The slightly bitter, overly briny flavor would turn me off.
I would leave the table disappointed.
I would pick out the olives from a tasty tagine once I had reached my limit.
Then, while visiting friends in NY, I was introduced to a fresh, Provencal olive.
It was like a light-bulb had gone off. NOW I understood! Now, I got it!
I came home convinced that I would love olives.
Well, I was wrong. I like some olives. The sliced things from a can are still disgusting, but I am finding myself more enamored.
Me = Happy.
The End. Or is it?