Acquired tastes

Most worthwhile things are not immediately enjoyable. Since childhood, I have been acquiring tastes for various things: food, drink, activity, music. Things I come across and do not like or enjoy right away, but see value in, or see other people enjoying, and so I continue trying them. Most people do this sometimes, or how else would there be so many beer drinkers? 

I drink yerba mate every afternoon. When the weather is hot, I drink it with ice water, the rest of the time I have it with hot water. I enjoy everything about it, from boiling the water in my old kettle to emptying the old leaves into the compost pail and refilling my guampa with new tea. I enjoy the ritual. The first tepid slurp down to the last weakened pull is something to look forward to and savour. I started drinking this tea when I was a boy with my father. I made a game of it, trying to keep a straight face while draining each bitter turn I was offered. It looked cool, Dad drank it and liked it, so it must be something I should like too. In college, I bought my own kit and became a regular drinker. If you come to my house, I will most likely offer you a turn with the horn. Most people who try it do not wish to finish it, and if they have tried before, don't accept my offer. 

Now I wonder as an adult why I enjoy this tea. It is bitter. It is consumed scalding hot from a metal straw sitting in a cow's horn. Sometimes bits of the tea sneak through the strainer and get in your mouth. It is not convenient, fast, or easily portable. Do I like it because my dad drank it in front of me as a child? Because it became a game? I have some friends and family who also partake, so it might be a sense of belonging to an "elite" group. The simple answer is that I enjoy it now, regardless of how I got here. 

Music works much the same way. Lots of music is easy to appreciate, right from the first listen. Most of that sort of music wears thin quickly, and so is replaced constantly. Nickleback or any of their copycats, that interchangeable R and B on easy listening radio stations, it is all manufactured and disposable. Not that it is necessarily bad, or always uninspiring, it is just simple and what you hear the first time is going to be the same as what you hear the 20th time. Other music, less radio-friendly, may be harder to listen to or understand the first time. There can be real joy in listening closely and talking it over or reading about it and going back to listen again, and finding the beauty or the message the artist intended, or the experience they were sharing. But, play it for someone who isn't ready to think about it or is happy to keep it cheap and discardable, and they frown and skip it, or turn the volume down.

Mama hates when I listen to Tom Waits. He's got a voice like a backhoe. I think of him like one of those musicians at folk festivals who have invented Dr Suess-ish instruments and learned to play them and written music for them. He's taken a similar approach to his voice, and it is not usually easy to appreciate on the first listen. Give it a chance, a few more spins, and there is something remarkable there. 

A co-worker asked me the other day if I enjoy running. He's been on a health kick lately, eating better, running, etc. He hates every minute of every run he goes on. It plays with his emotions, he gets bored, his body aches... Do I enjoy running? I honestly don't know. I like that I went for a run this morning, but did I enjoy it while I was out there? Would I miss it if I could stop without making the dog crazy? I think I'm still at that stage of drinking bitter tea, trying not to pull a face, wanting to like it.

Now I find myself questioning if I really like anything. If I know what I like, or how to tell if I like it. I'm sure about some things, on my way with a few things, and there are a few I'm pretty sure I'm never going to get around to liking. Brussel sprouts spring to mind. For the two occasions per year it would be relevant to like them, it just isn't worth it. For now, the weekend is about to start, and I'm pretty sure I like that.

A ritual life

Life is full of rituals. Mine is, anyway. Mostly little things that link together to get me through the day. I get up at the same time every morning, I run the same route, eat the same breakfast, make the same lunch, leave at the same time, every day. I get where I need to be, on time, and my mind is free for more important tasks than remembering to put on pants.

Some rituals are less utilitarian and more enjoyable. Every afternoon, weekday or weekend, I drink yerba mate. Fill the kettle with cold water and put it on the stove to boil. Pour the remainder of the previous day's water out of my black pump and stand it in the sink. Dump the previous day's leaves in the compost pail under the sink, and give the guampa a rinse. As a bachelor, I kept my supply of dried leaves in a rusty old coffee can I had hauled around college dorms, apartments, mountain tops, construction sites, and tree planting camps. As a married man, I keep it in a stainless container next to the brown sugar on the counter. Pull that out, fill the horn about 2/3s, shake it on its side, pack the leaves so they taper from the lip to the base, and insert the bombilla. Stand it up, fill with cold water, and let it stand until the hot water is ready. When the kettle makes its first peep, turn the element off and let the residual heat in the coil finish the job. Take the kettle off before the whistling gets shrill, and pour it into the waiting carafe. Ideally, I can take the water and the guampa and sit down at the kitchen table to finish what I didn't read of the paper in the morning. The first shot is just the cold water that isn't absorbed into the leaves in the horn. By the second "real" pour, it is up to full heat. Fill, drink, fill, drink, until eventually the leaves are leveled out and their frothy green goodness is drained. Put it to the side, and look forward to tomorrow afternoon to do it all again. If Rosie's Mama is home, the ritual takes longer, because she likes to be included, but can't handle it at full heat.

There is joy in these little rituals. Some people fear boredom from eating the same thing every day. To me, it is comfort. Every day, I know that I have enough food in my lunch. I know because it was enough yesterday, and the days before that. There are enough variables in a given day to create stress. Why add to that by not being sure you have enough food? Or the microwave might break. Or you have to leave the office for most of the day. My lunch does not need a fridge or a microwave, and can mostly be eaten while driving. Cheap too. My sandwiches, fruit and yogurt cost less than a wilted salad or lukewarm piece of pizza from the "convenience" store next door, and I don't have to question the provenance of fruit.