Gus: “It tastes like…”Me: “Food.”Gus: “Yes, precisely. It tastes like food, excellently prepared. But it does not taste, how do I put this delicately…?”Me: “It does not taste like God Himself cooked heaven into a series of five dishes which were then served to you accompanied by several luminous balls of fermented, bubbly plasma while actual and literal flower petals floated down around your canal-side dinner table.”Gus: “Nicely phrased.”Gus’s father: “Our children are weird.”My dad: “Nicely phrased.



