No Accounting For Taste

 It is a failing, I suppose. 

I like what I like. My tastes run to the very pedestrian, suburban American fare upon which I supped as a child. It confounds my wife to a certain degree that when she is going out for an evening I ask for a TV dinner. 

But she buys me a Swanson's Salisbury Steak because it's what gets me through. 

There was a time, when I was very young, that I would only eat McDonald's when the family was getting fast food. This incensed my older brother whose tastes ran to the marginally obscure Arby's and Taco Bell. I was called "The Burger King," but not in a particularly affectionate way. There was a lot of eye-rolling on my family's part as we had to make a separate stop for "The Burger King." 

This narrow range of food intake lasted for many years, but somewhere around the time I was getting ready to graduate from high school, I decided to add lobster to my acquired tastes. My father looked on this development with some chagrin, wishing that I might have found something just a little easier to pick up in landlocked Colorado. 

Along the way, I have been offered a great many tastes and treats, specifically when someone hears that I have a deep and abiding affection for chocolate. They want to share with me the finest confections that they have sampled. Truffles and hazelnut chews. Gourmet infused bites of ninety percent cacao. And I take a bite. And I smile. And I wish I could have a Hershey bar. 

It makes me feel just a bit embarrassed because I'm a grownup now, and I really should appreciate the finer things. Like when they put arugula on my chicken sandwich. Or when they offer me pepper jack instead of cheddar. There I am, somebody's parent, looking at the kids' menu for inspiration before I order something with a garlic demi gloss. But I want to do it in such a way that I don't draw attention to my somewhat obvious infantile palate. 

It's called "comfort food" for a reason. I am not much of an adventurer. My parents raised me right. I know not to turn up my nose at whatever my hosts put on the table. I know how to present as an adult. It's just that when I'm at home alone, I regress. Macaroni and cheese. Chips Ahoy. 

And yes, the occasional Hershey bar.