I’m not sure exactly when my food preferences got knocked off track. It may have been during that stretch in my early twenties when I found myself unemployed and surviving on nothing but potatoes and ramen noodles. Perhaps it’s the same genetic flaw that causes me to forget someone’s name two minutes after meeting them.
Whatever
the cause, I’ve drifted away from craving sweets and developed a firm passion
for savory foods, especially when snacking. Recently, I’ve ventured into new
(possibly alarming) territory: I’m eating roasted seaweed.
Seaweed!
I
can’t explain how this happened. Frankly, seaweed doesn’t taste great—it’s
something like a marriage between mud and, well, pick any vegetable you barely
tolerate. The texture is weird too. Roasted seaweed is paper-thin and brittle.
Still, despite all this, I like it. I find myself munching on seaweed all the
time. Yep, I’ve embraced it. My new motto: sex, seaweed, and rock and roll.
—Mitchell
Hegman
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