Whenever Gregory cuts onions he stops himself from crying by becoming the onion. I don’t know exactly what it is that he does, but somehow he becomes one with the onion.
He is the onion.
I am definitely not one with the onion. I am not even two with the onion.
In fact, I am very far from finding any affinity with the onion and cutting one is painful in the extreme.
I have sensitive, allergic eyes at the best of times, and the common domestic task being performed daily throughout suburbia almost does me in.
And so, (on the grounds that Gregory is a trained professional chef and I am not) I am hereby abdicating all onion-cutting responsibility to him.
Onions are not the only food to annoy me.
Glace cherries are right up there too. What is a glace cherry? Is there any actual cherry in them? And if there is, what was the inventor thinking? Cherries are expensive. What braniac came up with a way to ruin an expensive, short-seasoned delight?
Glace cherries are a potent, chewy, unnatural Christmas pudding destroyer and it is perfectly acceptable to pick them out of said pudding and add them to landfill. Unfortunately, I doubt they will ever decompose.
Actually while we’re on the topic, I love most dried fruit, but take serious issue with the drying and sugar coating of tropical fruits. Pineapple, papaya and the like.
There’s no better way to ruin a morning than to take a mouthful of your morning cereal, only to have it sabotaged by a piece of nasty, teeth-sticking dehydrated paw-paw.
Even Q doesn’t like it. (I tried to fob it off onto her, by mixing it in with her puffed rice, but she spotted that sucker faster than a Sydney red-light camera).
Artichokes are tasty, but far too labour intensive for my liking. Seriously, who (apart from a home cook who fancies themselves on a season of MasterChef) actually prepares artichokes?
Chokos. Does anybody still eat them? Tolerable when drowned in cheese sauce. But then, everything is tolerable when smothered in cheese sauce.
Risotto. Love to eat it, but the continuous stirring annoys me. I get bored.
Ice Magic. You know that chocolate sauce that sets hard on ice cream. It was big in the 80’s. It’s runny topping all the way people. No debate.
Jelly. Read my rant in the Herald for further edification. It is total rubbish. The inventor should be ashamed.
Vegetables that require peeling. I can’t peel. I blame being left-handed and my parents never supporting my uniqueness by providing me with a left-handed peeler. Peeling a potato is such an exercise in frustration that I eat frozen beans instead.
Jubes. Contentious I know, but I’m a Jelly Bean girl. Jubes are like thick jelly.
Gross man, gross.
Mint in desserts. And chocolate and mint together in particular. Unfortunately this is a favourite combination for Gregory. Our house is generally hiding several packets of Mint Slice, so come 2pm in the afternoon, (sugar-hit o’clock) I can easily pretend they’re Kingstons instead.
Instant coffee. Particularly when it’s milky and lukewarm. It reminds me of Church as a kid. Each week we’d be dragged along by our parents, attend the Sunday school where no one spoke to you unless your parents were one of the teachers (which ours weren’t) and the only redeeming feature of the whole experience was the seriously diluted cordial, the crap coffee and the one Nice biscuit we were allowed.
This post is inspired by the instant coffee I’m drinking because the delicious real one I purchased from the café made it all the way home and up the stairs (along with several other packages, a water bottle and one wriggling baby) then suicided out of my hand and all over the floor.
Ask Shakespeare, this is the definition of tragedy.