It's still February. It's still cold and dark. I suppose I should be patient for things to change, but when it's freezing and pitch black out and I have to head out to work soon, I'm not exactly thrilled. Also, my cereal was mushy, because I poured it and then wandered off for too long, distracted by e-mail and twitter.
When it comes to eating, I'm a spice-wuss. This is an unfortunate reality, as my husband and his family love spices, and although I've - slowly - gotten accustomed to dishes a bit hotter over time, I'll never be able to handle dishes that make the Smiths say, "Oh, that's got a nice bite to it."
A few years ago, we were listening to a Quirks and Quarks podcast, and they talked about supertasters. I declared that was my problem with spicy food (it's not, of course) and I'm still mocked, but lovingly so.
"Supertaster," by Karl Taggart
Who says erotica can't be educational? Dirty Diner: Gay Erotica on the Menu's second story is Karl Taggart's "Supertaster." Here we have a situation not entirely unlike that of my husband and I, except I'm a complete spice wuss, rather than someone who genetically was somehow encoded to have a much more developed and sensitive sense of taste.
The dance the two men enter in this story made me smile. Having listened to that long-ago podcast, I did know what a supertaster was, so for me it was amusing to see the main character unsure as to why this guy - this guy he really, really liked - was capable of being so plain about food. Especially to a gourmand such as himself, who loves food, and spice, and cooking very complex meals. It's a very clever meet-cute, and the final conversations as the admissions are made are grand.
In the author bio, Karl Taggart also mentions he is a supertaster. Mental note for if I ever have him over for dinner - I should do the cooking, not my husband.