Monday, July 19, 2004
Cookies make me smart
This morning I ate a cookie.
When Okabe-San first offered it to me, I declined. The cookie, a uniformly flat disk, was brown and coarse and ugly looking. However, upon a second invitation, I gave in and pulled the treat from its crackling clear casing. The cookie was indeed rough, and I could see little purple buds peaking shyly at me from the strange new food.
My first impression of the initial bite was that I had chomped down on a mouthful of cardboard. Biting was difficult, and chewing was worse. Yet, hard as it was, the cookie didn't’t crumble. Rather, it lurked mangled in my mouth, waiting for the exact moment before I swallowed to explode in a wild party of purple flavor.
My eyes widened.
“Lavender?!” I queried.
“Hy!” Okabe-San replied.
I took another bite and chewed thoughtfully as my eyes wandered sightlessly about the room.
“Hmmm.”
I considered the texture and subtle flavors and after-flavors present in the lavender cookie.
After dwelling too long on the novelty of the cookie’s taste, I scarfed down the rest of it and went back to work.
My maternal grandfather once told me that an intelligent person learns something new every day. Because I like to think of myself as an intelligent person, I counted my sensory experience with the cookie as equal to a mental gain. And so it is that today, a lavender cookie made me intelligent.
posted by lydia @ 12:23 AM 7 comments
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