Concerning pumpkins
I received an e-mail from a certain afficionado of Japanese canned coffee branding me a "pumpkin eater" in what was clearly intended to be a derogatory fashion.
I am not ashamed of my fondness for raw pumpkin. Moreover, I am shocked that anyone, in this day and age, would attempt to engender feelings of self-doubt concerning this culinary preference.
However, since the subject has been broached, I feel obliged to point out that my accuser is none other than the very person who introduced me to the many charms of this magical orange gourd.
He has so conveniently forgotten those crisp autumn days when we would meet for lunch on the red flagstones of the university square, clasping our spoons as we quivered in anticipation of our daily repast of succulent pumpkin.
Like many other pleasures, pumpkin is one that must be moderated by common sense, a faculty sadly lacking in my erstwhile companion.
Oh, I admit to my share of benders, but they were infrequent, an occassional 20-pounder perhaps as reward for a hard day's work. However, pumpkin never was more than just one part of my nutritional pyramid. By contrast, my fellow squasheater was quickly consumed my pumpkin passion.
He began eating them not only for lunch but for dinner as well, then breakfast. This was not a matter of a few bites or a wedge here or there. This was full-sized, raw, stem-to-seeds devouring, peformed in a single sitting.
I knew he had a problem when during class he would sneak mouthfuls of the pumpkin he had stashed in his bookbag. On more than one occassion was our class was shocked into an embarrassing silence as the professor would call on him to answer a question, and his head would snap up, strands of pale marrow dangling from his maw.
As is the case with other addictions, my friend was driven to seek out ever-larger doses -- for indeed, that it was they were -- of pumpkin. He took to scouring county fairs around the state in search of his next big trophy.
I won't subject you to other details of his chilling descent into pumpkin madness. Suffice it to say that he eventually cleaned himself up. This is to his credit.
But, much as someone who has recently kicked a drug habit or undergone a profound religious experience, he now shuns that part of his past and projects his own failure to control his appetite on to others.
Please, sir, desist.
I am not ashamed of my fondness for raw pumpkin. Moreover, I am shocked that anyone, in this day and age, would attempt to engender feelings of self-doubt concerning this culinary preference.
However, since the subject has been broached, I feel obliged to point out that my accuser is none other than the very person who introduced me to the many charms of this magical orange gourd.
He has so conveniently forgotten those crisp autumn days when we would meet for lunch on the red flagstones of the university square, clasping our spoons as we quivered in anticipation of our daily repast of succulent pumpkin.
Like many other pleasures, pumpkin is one that must be moderated by common sense, a faculty sadly lacking in my erstwhile companion.
Oh, I admit to my share of benders, but they were infrequent, an occassional 20-pounder perhaps as reward for a hard day's work. However, pumpkin never was more than just one part of my nutritional pyramid. By contrast, my fellow squasheater was quickly consumed my pumpkin passion.
He began eating them not only for lunch but for dinner as well, then breakfast. This was not a matter of a few bites or a wedge here or there. This was full-sized, raw, stem-to-seeds devouring, peformed in a single sitting.
I knew he had a problem when during class he would sneak mouthfuls of the pumpkin he had stashed in his bookbag. On more than one occassion was our class was shocked into an embarrassing silence as the professor would call on him to answer a question, and his head would snap up, strands of pale marrow dangling from his maw.
As is the case with other addictions, my friend was driven to seek out ever-larger doses -- for indeed, that it was they were -- of pumpkin. He took to scouring county fairs around the state in search of his next big trophy.
I won't subject you to other details of his chilling descent into pumpkin madness. Suffice it to say that he eventually cleaned himself up. This is to his credit.
But, much as someone who has recently kicked a drug habit or undergone a profound religious experience, he now shuns that part of his past and projects his own failure to control his appetite on to others.
Please, sir, desist.
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