How trite it is, to say "forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest". But like most trite sayings, platitudes and cliches it became that way for a reason. There is a deep and inherent truth to it.
Sometimes there is a literal truth to it.
Several decades ago my handsome hubby went a little heavier on the peach schnapps than perhaps he ought to have. The inevitable result of that little overindulgence lead to an aversion to all things peach related that persists to this day. He doesn't even like the color peach, so acute and complete is his distaste.
This aversion has lead to a ban on peaches in our home. Of course the girls and I love peaches. Of course we do; they are forbidden fruit. So we sneak them when we can, eating them outside - which is just glorious, because we can let the juice drip straight off of our chins onto the ground, or at other people's houses, or positively gorging on them if he happens to not be home for a day or two during peach season. (This is not a good idea, by the way. I really do not recommend trying this. Really.)
Now I know there are two camps on liver and onions. I have never met a person who is neutral. Liver and onions has lovers and haters. I'm in the love camp. I know exactly why, too. My mom was in the love camp and my dad was in the hate camp. When I was growing up, once a year he would go out of town without us for a golf tournament. Mom went into serious decadence mode. And for Mom, the ultimate decadence was ice cream for breakfast and liver and onions for dinner. That is how it was presented to my sister and I. (She's firmly in the 'love' camp, too, in case there was any doubt.) Liver and onions was a treat of the same caliper as ice cream for breakfast.
So back to peaches - the liver and onions of my own adult household.
This weekend we were traveling to my parents house for just one day. It is about a four and a half hour drive. My daughter wanted a peach for the road. I told her she couldn't eat one in the car with her daddy, but that I was completely certain that my parents would have some for us when we got to their house.
the incident would not provoke a replay of the pie-eating contest in 'Stand by Me', but it didn't diminish the reprimands. (I did notice, however, that he didn't spend a lot of time in close proximity with that counter. Better safe than sorry.)
So I had a peach. Maybe two. My girls devoured - I'm not sure - more than a mere couple, I think.
Peaches sort of send me into Bubba Blue mode. (I originally wrote Bubba Gump because I couldn't remember Bubba's last name and had to look it up, but frankly I think Bubba Gump is more recognizable than Bubba Blue so I'm gonna leave it here for you. You're very welcome, don't mention it.) : I like peaches. I like peach pie and peach cobbler and peach preserves. I like peaches in my cereal and on my ice cream (whether it's for breakfast or dessert). I like peach smoothies and peach yogurt; peach tarts and peach danish. I would wear peach body lotion if it didn't attract bees and repel my husband.
If they were not forbidden, would I have the same response? (Maybe. I could write a similar ode to cherries and I'm allowed to have as many of those as I like.)
But back to peaches.
It's human nature to want what we can't have, isn't it? Which brings me to beer. Doesn't it always come back to beer, eventually?
Are these the best beers in the world? Why no, as a matter of fact, they are not. But neither are available where we live, so when we get the chance to have one, we savor it. And we anticipate it. It's like ice cream for breakfast. We seek it out and will inevitably choose it over other - inarguably better - options.
Because we can't get it all the time or even most of the time.
Nor can we get these:
A simple, humble snack cake? Or a rare and coveted butterscotch treat? Depends on where you live, I guess.
Depends on whether or not they're forbidden.