I’m sitting at a certain coffee house that I will avoid naming, though I will tell you that they use a big B for their logo. I know what you’re thinking – “Burger King? That’s not a coffee house!” – and you’re right. I know you are right because I am experiencing something wholly other that Burger King would never do for a customer, and that is as follows:
I’m standing at the counter to purchase coffee and a delightful pastry. A cinnamon scone caught my attention, though I don’t like how brittle they are. So I asked: “Are those scones crunchy?”, to which the person replied “they are brittle“, which if you remember I just mentioned a sentence ago that I don’t like. I recoiled and said “then I’ll just have a cinnamon donut”, since the flavor of cinnamon was now on my imaginary flavor palette, the one that reminds you of what things taste like and why you either like them or despise them. This is what stops me from eating Cranberry sauce at holiday meals. The very moment I see it my imaginary flavor palette kicks in and says “fruity ashtray”; as soon as I see Turkey, it says “buttery meat”, which sounds better than the former. This is the job of the imaginary flavor palette. It has served me well for many years and was now prompting me toward cinnamon, thus the donut selection.
“Are you looking for something cinnamony and crunchy” she asked me.
“Yes, why… what do you have in mind” (my internal palette checking against the known foods and consistency charts and and approving)
“Would you like me to run that donut through the toaster? It’s really good”
“Yes. Yes. OH YES!”
I just ate the last bite of heaven. It’s like an elephant ear died and left me its estate. Which I have eaten. Add this one to the imaginary palette list.