An Acquired Taste

My sister believes that people who comment that they like to eat or drink something exotic or unexpected and say that “it’s an acquired taste” are simply being pretentious asshats. (I suspect she’s often right.) And sometimes it doesn’t have to be unusual: even Alton Brown has said that coffee objectively does not taste good—it takes some getting used to.

I had some chocolate ganache spread over graham crackers while sipping a dram of Irish whiskey tonight, trying to think of something to write. I could blame the odd combination on trying to use up random foodstuffs because, y’know, quarantine, but really I would probably think that sounded good almost any Thursday evening. I actually prefer heavily peated Scotch and Mezcal, so I guess I like candy and smoky gasoline.

I didn’t start drinking until my 30’s. A colleague talked me into going to my first Scotch tasting, knowing that I didn’t drink anything alcoholic because to me it all tasted bad. I resisted quite a bit and only reluctantly and haltingly tried each whiskey on offer. I ended up really liking a 10yr Aberlour and not much else. Shortly after that, Laphroig and Lagavulin became my favorites. Go figure.

Coffee is another drink that someone (my wife-to-be) tricked me into liking via the gateway drug of lattes with breakfast. Now I only drink it black: French press, Moka pot, Aeropress, pour over, espresso. (I prefer to enjoy my coffee and dessert in separate vessels.)

I don’t understand these developments of my palette, but I’ve come by them as honestly as I have unexpectedly. They are pleasant surprises: perhaps not so much acquisitions as curious inheritances.