Taste is a funny thing.
Have you ever noticed how you loved a certain premade food until you tried its homemade counterpart?
I find this happens to me all the time. So much so that I sometimes make a concerted effort not to eat something in its homemade form that I already love just so I can continue to enjoy it. The best examples I can draw on for this would be chocolate bars. Even though I don’t eat much in the way of mass-market chocolate anymore, I still enjoy the occasional 3 Musketeers or Crunchie, and have no intention of learning how to make the various components by hand (purely for the sake of time and my lack of it) thus the reason I shy away from most handmade candy bars and choose to focus more on pure chocolate instead.
Certain simpler tastes from childhood, like Kraft Dinner (which I rarely, if ever consume anymore, preferring Annie’s Homegrown if we’re talking packaged) or a yellow can of Habitant pea soup no longer satisfy for no reason other than that any homemade version is leaps and bounds better. In that regard, I often choose to go without until I’m in the mood to prepare something, rather than settle for an inferior product that’s not going to cut it.
Most recently I had this “aha” moment with a Jos Louis. Ever since I was a child, Jos Louis’ were the sweet of choice when I happened to be granted a special treat. And again, though I don’t eat them as often as back then, I still occasionally nibble them (usually when I’m sick and in need of childlike comforting). The only difference was this time after one bite of the chocolate-coated cakey pastry, I’d lost that lovin’ feeling. You see, the week prior I’d made homemade whoopie pies for the first time, and having that fantastic taste memory so near to the top of my consciousness made the store-bought cake pale in comparison.
