Because of my inability to “keep it short”, this is a continuation of the Love/Hate Challenge I started in my last post. If Chelise at Caterpillar to Butterfly is still reading, she’s probably regretting nominating me.

DA RULES:

1. List 10 things you LOVE
2. List 10 things you HATE
3. Nominate a few suckers to do the same

I got through three of these in my last post…seven to go.  So…let’s talk about FOOD!

10 THINGS I LOVE and 10 THINGS I HATE (in unranked order) – PART 2:

4a.  I love ice cream…

Ice cream is kind of a no-brainer.  What’s not to love here?  It’s creamy, it’s cold, it’s sweet, and if it’s done right, it has lots of chunks of candy, fudge and peanut butter in it. If it’s done wrong….wait.  Ice cream is never wrong.  Never mind.

I have a long history with ice cream.  Growing up, we always had some in the house.  It was a staple, just like eggs, cheese, and peanut butter.  It was Dad’s favorite late night snack; if the container was mostly empty, he’d just sit in his recliner with the thing, scooping along the sides as they melted with a sleeve of Ritz crackers.

We rotated through a few flavors in the freezer – chocolate, Rocky Road, Neapolitan (with the chocolate gone and the vanilla half-eaten, leaving the freezer-burnt, Barbie-pink artificial strawberry third left to fossilize.)  Typically, we also had Breyer’s vanilla, which is absolutely the best vanilla on the planet.

Now, I KNOW what you’re thinking – “Vanilla?  Isn’t that kind of…dull?”  Well, Breyer’s was born in 1866 and they do vanilla right, with real cream and flecks of vanilla bean (OK, for all I know, it’s dirt and cockroach legs, but it tastes so good I really don’t care.) And vanilla is ONLY boring if you don’t have a can of Hershey’s syrup handy, or a jar of peanut butter, or even some REAL maple syrup to put on it.  (Yes, my Pennsyltuckey roots are showing.  But if you haven’t had peanut butter on ice cream?  You are seriously missing out on genius culinary artistry.  Life is short – put it on your shopping list, like, NOW.  You’re welcome.)

I didn’t meet Ben and Jerry until college, and while they work their hippie labels, trendy names, and boutique flavors to tempt me into an illicit threesome of debauchery, I will always have a spot in my heart for my boy-next-door Breyer’s.

4b. …and I hate cantaloupe.

You know how sometimes, life chucks you an unexpected curveball, and people halfheartedly attempt to demonstrate their superior coping skills by saying, “Well, God is showing us He has a sense of humor”?

Well…yes.  Yes, He does.  I have proof. It’s cantaloupe.  Which is CLEARLY the practical joke of fruit.

I mean, look at it.  First of all, it totally looks like a giant eyeball wearing fishnets, which SHOULD be cool, right?!  Check it out.  It’s totally watching you when you don’t look directly at it:

And then you slice into it, and SURPRISE!  Bright orange – my FAVORITE COLOR!  So far, so good….this should be AWESOME!  And BONUS – it’s one of the healthiest foods out there, solving world hunger, complex math equations, and leaping tall buildings in a single bound.

So you taste it, anticipating deliciousness.  And…

MOUTH ASSAULT!  MOUTH ASSAULT!  ABORT! ABORT!

Because you’re a dignified, refined adult, you run to the garbage can and hork the slimy blob directly into the trash.  You proceed to scrub your tongue with a nearby napkin, alternating with water to flush the residue away.

Obviously, this melon has gone bad.  I mean, people can’t be eating this and actually ENJOYING it, right?  You write off the horrific experience as an exception and go on your merry way.

And then, a few years later, you see a group of people digging heartily into a fruit salad.  The offending chunks of orange toxic waste are present, as are normal fruits you DO like – grapes, pineapple, watermelon.  You shrug, scoop out a serving, and dig in.

Nope.  NOPE.  NOPENOPENOPENOPENOPE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE

<ptoo>

You look around.  No one’s eyeing you sideways, stifling a giggle.  People are just standing around…EATING this stuff.  They look perfectly, disturbingly normal.

This has gotta be Candid Camera, right? Or the Twilight Zone?  BECAUSE YOU CANNOT SERIOUSLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE ARE CHOKING DOWN THIS SHIZ AND ACTUALLY ENJOYING IT.  Unless, like, there’s a case of alien possession or mind-altering radio waves zapping around from cranium to cranium.

Because what you’re ungraciously spit out tastes NOTHING like fruit.  Fruit is sweet and cool and juicy and makes your face smile.  This?  This is nasty.  MY FACE IS NOT SMILING.  This is NOT FRUIT.  It’s clearly the mutant forbidden love child of a lonely skunk finding comfort in an abandoned gym sock in a compost pile.  (This could TOTALLY happen, yo.  Totally.  Happen.  Compost piles can, like, spontaneously COMBUST – you add the heat energy to some genetic material and BOOM, foot fruit is born, and you chuckleheads are actually EATING THIS STUFF voluntarily.)  <gags>

5.  I love chocolate, but I hate mint chocolate.

Totally uncreative to say I love chocolate, I know.  But since it’s self-explanatory, perhaps I won’t need 1000 words to describe it.

(I make no promises.)

Chocolate is serious yum.  It’s a hug for the brain.  And it plays so nicely with, like, everything.  Peanut butter.  Oats.  Coffee.  Fruit.  Chili flakes.  Orange peel.  Ice cream.  Nuts.  Ants. (Yes.  Ants.  Seriously, try ’em.  They’re like little Rice Krispies in cocoa bathrobes.  Just don’t think about eating the legs and you’re good.  I swear.)

Chocolate is never an inappropriate reaction.  Bad day?  Good day?  Tax season?  Lottery winnings?  Delayed pizza delivery?  Basement flooded?  Found a quarter?  ALL CALL FOR CHOCOLATE.

I love it all. Dark, milk, everything in between.  Heck, I’ll even eat white chocolate.

Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I should mention that a few years ago, I thought white chocolate was an abomination.  I mean, technically, it isn’t really chocolate at all.  Sure, it has cocoa butter in it, but so does suntan lotion, and we all KNOW that THAT is not something you want to be eating, no matter HOW good it smells.  (Seriously.  Don’t eat it.  Smells good, tastes like a candle.  Please do not ask me how I know this.)

I was convinced that white chocolate was an impostor, taking the good name of chocolate in vain, using the label to front its political agenda to the masses to push for acceptance.  But then Reese’s came out with a white chocolate peanut butter cup.  And, well, peanut butter, so I ate one a few.

And, you know what?  Not bad.

White chocolate will never be my first choice, but as I’ve matured, I’ve come to accept its place on the confectionery spectrum.  So I promote tolerance for chocolates of all shades and hues.  I frequently and enthusiastically celebrate diversity with chocolate.  And you should, too.

Except….DO NOT BE PUTTING MINT IN MY CHOCOLATE.

Mint in chocolate makes me cry.  Why would you do something so terrible to something so good?  Mint does to chocolate what Westboro Baptist did to Christianity.  The combo is an abomination that has no place in civilized society.  END OF DISCUSSION.

I mean, let’s be logical here.  Mint is the flavor of mouth-cleaning things.  Toothpaste.  Floss.  Mouthwash.  (Although I much prefer cinnamon for these things, you can hardly find them anymore – seriously, was there a boycott, or a cinnamon shortage/bark blight or something? –  so I’ve resigned myself to the sub-par mint varieties.)  We use mouth-cleaners to signal the end of eating for the day.  No more food, the meal is over, time for bed.

So you get chocolate – the food that you can never, ever get enough of – the food that you ALWAYS have more room for – mixed up with mint, the food finish line?

So, so wrong.

You’re sending your brain a damaging mixed message, not unlike the one that most women’s magazines send you, where the cover blares the incongruous dual signal that you’re supposed to drop ten pounds this month while baking this delicious coconut chip 3-layer cake for your family.  IF YOU LOVE THEM.

So don’t be putting toothpaste in my food.  It sends a sick, twisted message to our impressionable youth.  Plus, that shiz is nasty.

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Five down, five to go.

P.S.  Speaking of hybrids – did you know there’s a cat breed called a Cheetoh?  FOR REALZ.  And I totally want one.  BECAUSE KITTENS.  Go to HERE and look!  (It’s like an embedded petting zoo, yo.)

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Today’s select victim nominee is Heather at peaceof8 – because she writes pretty much how I think I sound when I talk, although after this rant she may not find that terribly flattering.  Ha.  😉