Foodie
I have a love-hate relationship with the word “foodie.” On one hand, it seems to refer to people who enjoy eating, which is pretty much everyone on the planet, so it is totally pretentious and stupid. On the other hand, there is the camaraderie among people who are unashamed of their celebration of a meal. On the third hand, I was a really picky eater as a child and am now someone who will try almost anything once, so there is an issue of personal growth.
My foodie bona fides are pretty suspect, all things considered. I think my palate is as refined as my taste in art, which is to say, not at all, I just like what I like. And, try as I might, there are just some things I cannot stand to eat, including olives and capers. Lest you call me a hater of things briny, I could live on oysters for the rest of my life, I love a dirty martini, and I have had impure thoughts about bathing in extra virgin olive oil.
I have hid this secret for far too long, as among foodies, it is kind of hard to avoid olives in some fashion (those Greek ones are especially persistent and evil). But today, one of my foodie friends showed his tell, and it was hilariously embarrassing, for him. You don’t like crab? You don’t like salmon? You don’t freaking like oysters?
DoB, go back to New York, eat your takeout Americanized Chinese food, and post pictures on Facebook about the unbelievable fois gras you tasted last weekend.
