The Taste of Love.

So love tastes like... sesame?

A few weeks ago, when I went back home to Ma Hog, I stumbled across something rather exciting. There, in the window of a rather excellent cafe (The Salt Pig in Wareham, since you ask), were bright red cubes of Indian-style fudge, made in my homeland of Dorset – ‘Sesame and Cinnamon Bishtii’. Attracted to their crazy colour – and hankering after something sweet and sticky – I snapped them up in a flash, and barely made it back to the car before ripping the whole bag open.

Only then did I remember that I’m not so keen on sesame. This being a product that tasted of little else, I had got myself stuck in a pickle. Whoops.

Thankfully, all was not lost. You see, as you may already know, one of the best things about buying things you’re not that keen on is you can give them to other people – and make yourself look like a saint in the process. This time then, instead of keeping the whole thing to myself (which, I’ll admit, I occasionally do with very good puddings), I passed them around the car, handing them out to my family. Cheeky? Maybe. But I didn’t hear them complaining.

Perhaps that’s what Pashmas meant when they designed the packaging for this product, describing their bishtii as ‘the taste of love.’ Maybe they recognised it as the kind of food you’ll want to share – with your loved ones, or anyone else for that matter.

Actually, that probably wasn’t what they were intending. Still, their tag line did get me thinking: what exactly does love taste like?

Of course, it would have to be sweet on the whole (unless, for you, love tastes like particularly salty bodily fluids. In which case, go have a cold shower and don’t come back until you’ve calmed down). However, that’s probably where the similarities between these bishtii and love end. Let’s face it: sesame does not taste of love (or vice versa). Sesame tastes of something altogether more serious… Procrastination? Boredom? I dunno…

Cinnamon, however, I can get behind: it’s suitably warming and good for you. Get some chocolate in the mix as well – for seratonin, and general meltiness – then you’re probably halfway there. Cynics might say you need something bitter, so maybe we’ll make the chocolate dark – a good bar of 70% – and fairtrade, probably (because love ought to be fair – at least some of the time).

God. Now I come to think of it, there are sooo many things that taste like love. Salt caramel sauce, for starters. Halloumi. Just about everything my Granny’s ever made – eccles cakes, trifle, apple crumble and custard… Ma Hog’s pasta bakes should go in too – as should the chocolate orange martini I glugged down on my birthday. Oh yes, love surely ought to contain some alcohol – a wee dram to bring on the giddiness.

I could go on. But even with just these ingredients you’d probably throw up.

Makes sense, I suppose. As you crouch over that toilet bowl, vomiting all those wonderful things, you know it’s just lovesickness, really.

I’m sorry. I’ll stop. This post is getting way too sentimental.

Somebody, pass me the bucket.


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