Y'ever think about what absolute mad decadence we live in that “vanilla” means “plain”
Anytime someone says ‘it’s just vanilla ice cream’ I have to restrain myself from saying, “ah yes, the flavor produced by the seeds of a tropical orchid, a flower which blossoms for a single day before dying, the second most expense spice in the world. Just that.”
Historically, the spices I have in my cabinet are an embarrassment of riches. I have there a large container of whole black peppercorns which I grate fresh over my food. Multiple containers of cinnamon because I forgot I already had some. Ginger, cardamom, red pepper flakes, whole cloves and ground, nutmeg and turmeric. Kings and emperors have not eaten food so well spiced.
I have vanilla ice cream in my freezer (cold! frozen! when the rich would pay fortunes to send for ice from mountains to chill fruit in the summers). I am going to put on my silk robe, fix myself a bowl, and feast.
I am bold, daring and fearless, I make no effort to stand out from the crowd, this sort of thing comes naturally to me. I am the pattern on a plain canvas from which excitement springs. I am guilty of being different and make no effort to change. I am basically like Neo from the Matrix.
