?about garlic. Actually, I do, but in the sense that I loathe, detest and revile it. I want it banished from civilised society, for every clove to be rounded up and nuked.
Because it is revolting. Not the taste – I accept it can be pleasant – but the smell. God, the smell. Especially when dancing on the breath of an early-morning Tube commuter or that of a colleague just returned from a “working lunch” at Luigi’s and with the flatus of a forest troll. I’d rather be hit with mace. Less GBH on the senses.
And yet, have you noticed that everyone stinks of it these days? Bus drivers, OAPs, children, cats? There’s a global conspiracy. You buy a lunchtime salad – a salad, for pity’s sake – then notice that people are turning away, retching. This is when you discover that the peppers or the tomatoes have secretly been soaked in some rancid dressing. “Garlic-infused olive oil” you read on the contents, as the filmy residue works its halitotic magic on your kisser. They shouldn’t be allowed to impose it on people willy-nilly. That’s assault.
They are now even sneaking garlic into desserts, which is just perverted.
My sympathies are with Dracula and Silvio Berlusconi, who reportedly hates the smell and is obsessed with minty breath. Good man. I cheered when I heard about the recent campaign in Italy to have garlic-free restaurants.
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As campaigner Carlo Rossella said, “Garlic for me is a sort of persecution.” Exactly. And in this, the season of canap?s, prepare for it to get worse. Talking to fellow partygoers will suddenly feel like being seared with a blowtorch.
It’s one thing to enjoy your food, folks, quite another to sentence the rest of us to the breath penalty.