Large Fierce Mammal

This image, and the article that goes with it, are dedicated to Silvia Jay, who probably will never fall for this.

I have always loved olives. Black, green, pit in or stuffed with all kinds of goodies, marinated in the Gods know what, or breaded and deep fried – you name it. Imagine my surprise to learn that my olive passion isn’t shared by everyone!

Way back in my university days, my sister was dating a very easily manipulated man who saw me eating olives at a party my parents were hosting, and asked me how I could stand them.

“Well, it’s an acquired taste,” said I, “But you have to eat seven before you get it.”

At first he was resistant, but my evident relish at their lip smacking goodness finally got the better of him and he counted out seven olives on a napkin. As his Olive Mentor, I cautioned him to chew each one slowly and savour every subtle nuance of its flavour because anything less would render the entire enterprise worthless.

His ordeal was quite interesting to watch as the chewing of each olive resulted in facial contortions that several times came dangerously close to turning his head inside out.

When the last fragment of the fateful seventh olive was gone down his gullet and his shudders had subsided, I told him to take a swig from his beer to cleanse his palate.

“Now, eat another one to prove it worked,” I said, handing him a particularly large and vigorous specimen impaled on a tooth pick.

Looking doubtful, he popped it in his mouth and gagged.

Sitting back, I looked at him over the rim of my beer glass as I said, “Apparently you’re an exception to the rule.”