Taste

Back in Brussels, we lived right in the middle of the city.  In fact, our ground floor apartment was right next door to the neighborhood sandwich shop.  The shopkeeper was a charming man who often greeted me home from a business trip by hanging out the window and shouting hello.  He'd regularly invite me in for a coffee or a sandwich.  I am one of those people who can see "going out" for many kinds of food, but as a cook, sandwiches are one of those things I think I might just have the talent and resourcefulness to make on my own.  But every so often, I would agree to a sandwich because, well, it just seemed absolutely rude to always refuse.  Besides, he knew where I lived.

On my first occasion ordering my sandwich, he deftly slit the baguette lengthwise, held it aloft and declared more than inquired, "You like SPICE!?!"  As he looked at me expectantly, I could read from his face that the answer to this was almost assuredly supposed to be yes, so I nodded.  He slathered a green and red mixture of something, boy was I ever so curious, before proceeding to proudly layer on the ham and cheese.  (You cannot deny the joy of a man at his craft, even if it was a simple sandwich, I could tell he really loved what they did.  And I was sure it meant it would be one hell of a sandwich.)

Turns out the "spice," he bragged, was his signature - the je ne sais quoi which set his sandwiches apart from all those other plain, unspicy baguettes littering the city (and the much less crowded sandwich shop competing directly across the street).  It was something he was very proud of.

I suppose the spice could be interpreted as guilding the lily - I mean you start off with a French baguette, add ham, add cheese, really do you need more to get to perfection?  But spice was his thing, and it did make his sandwiches very unique.

In case you are curious, it turns out that "spice" is a mixture of chopped cilantro and pimento.  I realized this even before my first bite, as the scent of cilantro wafted towards my nose.  I am not a bloodhound, I just happen to be one of those rare creatures, who through a tragic turn of genetics, has the strong conviction that cilantro tastes like lemon dish-soap, obliterating all other flavors it is paired with.

I usually avoid cilantro with a passion, but I never had the heart to tell him to "hold the spice."  (I am not sure such a preposterous concept would even register with him, but I didn't want to find out.)  I would order my sandwiches, spice and all, and enjoy the spirit in which they were made.  Just because it wasn't my taste doesn't mean it couldn't be appreciated.

Okay so bear with me on this because this random musing will eventually come to a conclusion, promise... One of my favorite quotes is from Dorothy Parker, who said, "A little bad taste is like a dash of paprika."  It certainly is interesting, and sometimes that is more important than ordinary good taste.  Bad taste can be fun, and when done with passion, a pleasure.

That is why I cannot ascribe to the old fashion adage that one should take off one accessory before you leave the house.  Too boring and restrictive in my opinion!  I've been known to wear two scarves, a necklace and a broach all at once.  It makes me happy to wear so many of my favorite things at once, each one with a memory or a story of their own.  Yes, to some, I might have looked just like a Christmas tree that day, but my sandwich man would have recognized one spice aficionado for another.  Here's to a little bad taste now and again to keep things lively!