prepared. I explain this with the fact that I am a human, and humans typically eat cooked food, rather
than just stuffing whatever root or piece of flesh into their maw, like a dog or Scarlet O’Hara. I don’t
like raw tomatoes. I also don’t like raw potatoes. Or raw eggs. I don’t dump raw flour into my mouth,
add a shot of yeast and a spoonful of sugar and say I’ve got my carbs for the day. I mix them together
and add water and other things and stir it and knead it and bake it and it becomes bread. So there’s
nothing inconsistent about finding tomatoes palatable after they’ve undergone admixture with
elements that will substantively alter their flavor. And furthermore, DUH-DOY.
I honestly wish that I didn’t have to get angry about this. I know, on some level, that I really don’t. But I
am weary to the bone with having tomatoes stuffed in my face by people who are incredulous that I
don’t enjoy them, and ask the same dense, irritating questions, like such is the only road home through
the fog of their bafflement. I am not, and could never be, a vegetarian or vegan (every time something
eats, something else dies), but I do sympathize with them, in that they’re forever feeling called upon to
defend themselves and their choices to the wider culture. Granted, some of them ask for it by trying to
spread their weird food Gospel, but that’s not me. I honestly do not care that other people like
tomatoes. I honestly do not think any less of anyone for liking food that I do not like. Eat your
tomatoes with pig’s feet and tripe and Morel mushrooms and wash it down with cobra whiskey for all I
care. Do you.
Just extend the same courtesy, and we can all live in a world where we get exactly what we want on
food, and nothing more, and nobody at Hershey Park has to listen to grumpy tired dads swearing about
the vegetable wraps again. UJ