True Confessions time: I'm one of them.
You know the type: Those insufferable louts who practice meditation in the form of navel orange gazing, selecting the Three Perfect Oranges from the supermarket bin for some recipe or other. We babble about baklava and say "aubergine" instead of "eggplant" or "that funny black vegetable over there." We haunt the food sites on the Internet and scarf up obscure recipes, then inflict our cooking experiences on others. Our fridges and pantries contain the weirdest of weird ingredients. Pomegranate molasses? Got it. Senna powder? Thai basil? Guilty as charged. We can pick up an unlabelled jar of some ground-up green spice, give it one sniff, and say "oregano" without even blinking.
'Fess up: Who else has this addiction?
You know the type: Those insufferable louts who practice meditation in the form of navel orange gazing, selecting the Three Perfect Oranges from the supermarket bin for some recipe or other. We babble about baklava and say "aubergine" instead of "eggplant" or "that funny black vegetable over there." We haunt the food sites on the Internet and scarf up obscure recipes, then inflict our cooking experiences on others. Our fridges and pantries contain the weirdest of weird ingredients. Pomegranate molasses? Got it. Senna powder? Thai basil? Guilty as charged. We can pick up an unlabelled jar of some ground-up green spice, give it one sniff, and say "oregano" without even blinking.
'Fess up: Who else has this addiction?
