Sitting at the table…dinner time
Now there needs to be a little interlude. The Young Viking (YV) hates multiple textured foods. His mother has forever been trying to make him eat all sorts of “towers of taste”… the English abomination of mixing a bunch of foods into one forkful. Instead of savouring the actual taste of the thing you are eating, instead of covering it up with a bunch of other tastes and sauces and condiments.
But the YV knows what he likes. Plain meat. Plain pasta. Never cheese unless it’s on pizza. Never raisins in anything unless they are on their own. Never yoghurt.
And so he has eaten his chicken breast and his mother wants him to try a bit of sauce in his pasta (for the 100th time) or maybe it was chicken soup with vegetables. And this is where his last 4 years finally bubble up.
YV: No, I don’t want to taste it. Because every time, you say (in sing-song voice) “try it, you can’t know if you don’t try it at least once” but I do know, that it’s disgusting. And then I try it and it’s disgusting! And I’m right!”
Sense of conviction: 11,000.
The room went silent in a slightly stunned silence. Except for my spontaneous laughter.
Me: “Ah, there it is. That Filottian conviction. And yes, you’re right my son. And don’t let anyone tell you different’”
YV: “Yeah. I know I’m right!”
His mother looks at me, abject defeat in her eyes, she shakes her head in resignation.
Indeed.
The Young Viking is clearly Venetian too.
Buon sangue non mente.
This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here
