How Do You Know You Don't Like it if You've Never Tried it?
Most things in life are subjective and this is why I'm writing a book.
“If you have never tasted something you are not missing this thing—but when you find out it’s good, it’s a new pleasure you get to experience,” a delicious French lover said to me earlier this week.
If you know me you’ve probably heard me bitch about celery before. I don’t like it and I know this because I’ve tasted it consistently for years and can make this personal claim. I still tolerate it in stews and soups but you’ll never catch me snacking on ants on a log. As for you, gnaw on celery sticks all day long. If it brings you pleasure I am happy for you. This means you know what you like.
As a journalist, I've fallen victim to “best” lists for SEO purposes which 9/10 get me riled up based on the ridiculous comments that flood in, such as, “I can’t believe you didn’t include my favorite burger.” Simmer down. If I added everyone’s favorite burgers I’d never finish the story and I couldn’t possibly make less money than I already do. This triggering trolling has prompted me to be more discerning about who I share my personal travel lists with. Stop swarming places because you read that they’re the best. Have some opinions of your own.
It all goes back to personal preferences. What do you actually like? You do realize that you have to try things to find out if you don’t like them, don’t you? You can’t judge a beautiful, briny oyster without slurping it down, at least once. If at that point it isn’t your jam, there are plenty of other things to eat in this world.
This leads me to last Spring in Puglia, where I went on a date with a tall, handsome Italian man in Lecce who divulged that he liked to have his nipples bit during foreplay. "No way,” I say to myself. A check-yourself-moment later I realized that A) I was way more prude than I thought and B) Finally, a man who knows what he likes.
The next day on my train ride from Puglia to Rome I thought about the night before. There’s way more to this story that must be saved for Hot + Hungry but this blissful evening prompted me to think about sex and food in a similar space as these are two things that bring me the greatest pleasure in life.
Food and sex are linked via pleasurable emotion but we consistently sabotage our pleasure zones based on caring what others might think; a classic case of what I call ‘follow-the-leader syndrome.’ If everyone else isn’t doing it it must not be acceptable. If a man wants me to bite his nipples, and in return, it gives him pure ecstasy, I am going to give it a whirl.
Who am I to judge as I prefer the same pleasurable activity so why would I ever think it’s unacceptable for me to reciprocate? And how do I know I don’t like something if I don’t try it?
This happens a lot with luxurious foods like caviar, foie gras, and escargot, where I've seen so many people choke these things down with the face of pure disappointment. I love the allure of escargot but over the years I’ve decided I’d rather find pleasure in something else like Pâté en Croûte—a meat pie from the Medieval times wrapped in exquisite pastry crust with a layer of meaty gelatin between the crust and the meat to keep it moist and kinky. It’s truly one of my favorite things in this world.
One of my vices is Taco Bell. “I can’t believe you eat that crap,” I hear a lot in response to this. “Why do you care?” People put me on a pedestal as a food writer, consistently giving me critical feedback for liking or not liking specific things. Let me tell you, there’s nothing more satisfying than tearing into a Nachos Bell Grande and a hard shell taco, drenched in enough fire sauce to question the faith of your supposed stomach made of steel, in a parking lot. It’s a once or twice-a-year desire that satiates me instantly. If you hate Taco Bell, don’t eat Taco Bell, but please don’t wreck my 8-minute forbidden food fantasy.
Earlier this week I was in Paris for 48 hours. I got a text from the aforementioned French lover announcing he’d be in town after all. 5 months had passed since we last encountered each other so I was kind of nervous in an exciting way. Our plans were loose. “Are you going to eat dinner before you come over or am I your dinner tonight?, I text.” We shared a glass of Champagne in my suite and moseyed downstairs to dinner. We devoured the most heavenly beef and root vegetable puff pastry for two (pot pie but next level) with an equally as dreamy glass of Meursault and talked openly for the duration of dinner. He asked about my writing and I started blabbing about my book.
“What does jamón ibérico de bellota taste like?,” he asks. He was raised Muslim and doesn’t abide by all of the religious rules but chooses to not eat pork. “As a writer, I have a hard time describing the ecstasy that happens in my mouth when I eat it,” I reply. “It’s unlike any other taste and sensation I’ve ever felt before and I am addicted to this taste and feeling.” He smiled and said he would be willing to make an exception in exchange to feel the sensation.
“Have you ever eaten mangoes in between lovemaking?,” he asks. I blush. “Mangoes make your mouth tickle; it feels like a kiss,” he says. Apparently, they also spark arousal. “We’ll try this when you come back this summer as it's not mango season right now.” My research on this topic is inconclusive…for now.
“I want to drink Champagne off of your body,” he says, going into full detail while I’m trying to finish my dinner without melting into the ground—describing the feeling of tiny, effervescent bubbles, popping one by one, while the Champagne drips down the decolletage; the way it smells when it warms up on on the skin; and how it feels and tastes when the tongue touches it for the first time on the body. I thought to myself, I’ll kick him under the table if he tries to order dessert. (He didn’t order dessert, not from the restaurant’s menu, at least!).
“Maybe we can try mangoes and jamón together between sex,” he whispered in my ear, later that evening. “Can you imagine?” Umm. yes. I can. And I’ll be impatiently counting down to my return to Paris during mango season. I previously shared this list of food I found as pleasurable as sex but this is just a scratch-the-surface subject for Hot & Hungry. I am on a quest to find out how food and sex overlap in the same sphere of pleasure. They’re both connected in the limbic system of the brain, otherwise known as the part that controls emotional activity. In a nutshell, the brain sees food and sex as the same emotion.
For the next 365 days, with an emphasis on my time in Europe this summer, I’ll be deep diving into this subject firsthand. Life is too short to deny yourself pleasure and I intend to create a space that’s erotic, intriguing, comical, beautiful, raw, and comfortable, where I can openly capture in a partial memoir-style of writing some of life’s most pleasurable moments. My hope is to inspire others to live more openly before casting judgment on one’s personal preferences— without having tried it first.
Any book agent recommendations after reading this?!
-Jenn
CURRENTLY BITCHEN ABOUT:
A BOOK: Women Who Run with the Wolves, my version of a bible. This should be on every woman’s nightstand IMO!
A PRODUCT: I am obsessed with this Youth to the People Superfood Cleanser that my friend Audre recently turned me onto. It’s all about routine-ish this year, something that’s hard to do on the road, but this cleanser has turned my skin into a glowy dream. TY!
A QUESTION: Are you afraid to try new things out because you’re scared you might love them?
so good! like no .... don’t stop yet good. book’s gonna rock
I seriously CANNOT wait to rip through the pages of Hot & Hungry, but in the meantime these incredible entries and teasers will keep me satiated…I guess