hello
Turnips taste like sadness. It's a pungant, unshakable undertone in every bite.The aftertaste is the worst bit, the forlorn sensation lingering on after the deed like the forbidden fruit [or root vegetable in this case]
I eat turnips like I read sad poetry, not for enjoyment, but a lesson in despair: a portal to a deeper world of dismal underwritten detachment confined forevermore to bitter depression. But you don't have to boil poetry, and doesn't leave the room filled with musky turnip stank, so I stick to that.
About Me
- Nathanial Stuart
- I am some kind of foul automaton that runs on black coffee and baked goods.
2 comments:
I don't like turnips either. They've always been the only icky part of Christmas dinner. But I choke them down because Mom likes to make them. I deal by drowning them in gravy. However, I do like squash (which we do not eat at Christmas dinner, or really ever), which is a fact that I've never really been able to fathom. I used to eat it mushed up when I was a baby. Now the taste makes me all nostalgic for the time when I was in a high chair and diapers. In fact, I think squash is my earliest memory.
My earliest memory is an old style red bus perched above a hill with picnic tables on it. The bus is gutted and cut in half [from front to back], and there is a grill inside it and other barbeque-esque amenities, where an old man is cooking hotdogs.
I used to think I'd made this up, or dreamt it until my parents confirmed that this was a real thing, and that there was in fact a half bus wit ha grill in it overlooking a picnicground.
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