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If there is one lesson I have learned from living out here in the woods - and learned repeatedly - it is that there is a gap between “You can eat that” and “That tastes good.” Not so much a gap as a yawning chasm, really.
Yesterday afternoon I noticed that the fiddleheads were up. Fiddleheads - for those of you lucky enough not to be in the know - are the tightly-furled sprouts of bracken ferns. Many people have told me that “you can eat those.”
I didn’t catch them in time last year. This year I was ready to go. I plucked them, rinsed them, and followed the recommended instructions to steam them well. Eager for my springtime treat, I plucked a fiddlehead out of the pan and popped it into my mouth.
It tasted… well… as an atheist, I don’t feel that I really possess the vocabulary for such a taste experience.
If I weren’t an atheist, I would say that they tasted unholy. In the literal sense. They tasted like something that should be rebuked in the name of the Lord.
But, being an atheist, I will have to simply explain that the fiddleheads tasted like a shot of Nyquil garnished with a slice of raw radish.
NOT. RECOMMENDED.
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