Unpopular Food Opinions Mga Nobela at Kwento

Processing. “Like,” I clarify, nodding thoughtfully, “medium rare? Or are we talking full caveman — still mooing?” The guy across from me frowns. He smells the worst. The driver’s shoulders tense. His Hitler-mustache pulls into a thin line. Good. “I personally don’t trust people who order well done,” I add. “Feels aggressive. Like unresolved childhood trauma.” “Shut up,” the one on my left growls. I grin. “Oh, come on. Food is universal. You can tell a lot about a man by what he eats.”

“She didn’t like the pineapple toppings.” Adrian lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Your taste, Julian—as I’ve said repeatedly—is questionable. Anyone with a remotely functioning palate would choose literally anything else when given options.” “I strongly disagree,” Julian shoots back. “I convinced someone to try it once, and they admitted your hatred is completely irrational. If you’d stop acting like it offended your bloodline and take one bite—” “I don’t care,” Adrian cuts in flatly.

“Let me guess—pineapple?” I gasped dramatically, clutching my chest in mock horror. “How did you know? Have you been spying on me?” He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Lucky guess. But I have to tell you, pineapple on pizza is basically a crime against humanity.” I playfully swatted his arm. "Says the guy who thinks pepperoni is the height of culinary sophistication." “It is!” he shot back, grinning. “It’s a classic for a reason. Meanwhile, you’re over there committing pizza blasphemy.”

Why they were important in our society. His eyebrow remained in his hairline as he watched me. “And what the hell does that have to do with wine?” He asked, the stoic tone already lessening. Blowing out a long breath, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Some of them like rating food. Think that their tastebuds are holier-than-thou. So they criticize food and drinks and the likes. And somehow they make a mean ass living whilst doing it.” His mouth perked up into a large smile. Eyes gleamed before he chuckled. “Maybe its better that I’m not well-versed in everyday shit, then, if that’s the bullshit you have to deal with on a daily basis.”

“We really need to find some new places to eat. All of the old haunts are getting boring… or complacent.” I sat up and took the bag, setting it aside to put on my shoes. “You just have a strange relationship with food. I’ve never met someone so opinionated about salad dressing before.” “Would you let that go? That poor locally grown romaine was swimming in Caesar dressing. Swimming! It’s a salad, not a dressing soup with a bit of lettuce thrown in as a treat.” I leveled him with a look. “I did it again, didn’t I?” “What? Prove me right?”

She exclaimed, "Barbecue!" Spencer chuckled, playfully ruffling Coco's hair, "The kid's got taste. The barbecue spot downstairs is top-notch." Keegan gave a nod of approval, "Barbecue it is, then." Jaylene, however, frowned. Pulling Keegan aside, she expressed her distaste for barbecue, citing the lingering scent on clothes and its lack of elegance. She preferred simple, fragrance-free meals. Keegan listened and then made a decision. He said, "Then we'll have Joplonese cuisine."

I said, shaking my head. “They’re zombies that eat frozen dinners, frozen hamburgers and think it’s fine dining. I really should have shown you this deep freezer dad has, it’s insane. Pot pies go there to die. Maybe all the preservatives and salt have taken what’s left of their functional capacity,” she said, grabbing an apple and cutting it up.

However, he couldn't understand the reason for her sudden anger earlier. “Vegetables. We don’t like vegetables a lot. I hate boiled peas and raw carrots the most.” Hearing how Ludwig declared the things he hated, Darren considered letting her know about his abhorrence towards broccoli, but Oliver was faster. “Broccoli is yuck! Please don’t make broccoli? Cabbage is better. I like tomatoes also, please no broccoli?”

I said, clutching onto the strap of my bag. He simply shrugged. "Still don't like it. I'm more of a hot chocolate guy." "I find that really sad." "What about you? What's that thing that people like that you don't find so awesome?" He asked, looking at me. I made a face, "Frozen yoghourt." He furrowed his eyebrows, "Isn't that like the twin sister to ice cream?" "Ew, no." "I find it weird that you hate frozen yoghurt so much but you're literally obsessed with ice cream." He said as we both headed for the parking lot.

I call him Carly's best friend's name because the word FRIED makes me hungry and crave for fried chicken. His reply made me elaborate more on my stand against raisins-ism. "I mean, it has a very weird taste, you know? And really though, the weird thing is that it's not only the taste that is bad but the texture too. It's like eating a deep friend rotten grape, right?" "Ms. Porter, this is biology class, not lunch or culinary." Mr. Loner-creepy-kill joy A.K.A Mr. Locrekoy harshly grabbed my cheese-flavored french fries and frowned at me.