roses of the stinky persuasion

Ever since my teenage years, I’ve had what I like to call an ongoing love affair. Who’s the lucky man, you ask? Garlic. That’s right. Whoever I befriend or seek out in this lifetime must accept this fact about me: Garlic is my life, my love, my passion, and my avatar. I can never get enough of him.

They call garlic “the stinking rose”, and there exists a San Francisco restaurant by that name. I ate there. Not enough garlic in the supposedly “outrageous garlic-infused” dishes. Though, the garlic ice cream sundae and the garlic-infused white wine were perfect.

I was never a firm believer in love at first sight until I met garlic. He’s the one. My attachment to garlic is so strong, that I morally oppose those who do not like it. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but hearing one say, “I hate garlic” is equivalent to, “I hate you.”

Imagine a hot, steaming, carmelized bulb of roasted garlic. Savor it by the spoonful. Allow your taste buds to melt in ecstasy. Mine do.

To further prove my point:

and again:

not done yet…

and my soon-to-be-forever-inked-on-skin garlic tattoo design:

Garlic, how I love thee unconditionally.

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Published in: on June 7, 2010 at 7:49 pm  Leave a Comment  

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