And I Shall Cover The Bodies Of My Enemies In Sour Cream
I fucking love sour cream.
It was one of t… oh holy shit I just bit my tongue.
It was one of those foods that I avoided as a child out of principle. It was white, so it fit my food criteria (yes, I was an adolescent food racist. That needs to be its own blog post.), but it had the word “sour” in it, so I automatically branded it disgusting.
As a child, I did not do sour. I still don’t understand why kids are all about sour candies. Sour is not a candy, it’s a torture device for naughty children. They must have retarded taste buds from being so naughty.
I had my sour cream epiphany when a baked potato that arrived to me at a restaurant with the sour cream adorning the top like a snowy mound of dairy deliciousness. I cautiously took a bite… and it was good! Ever since I’ve put sour cream on everything from potatoes to taquitos. I sometimes like to make refreshing dips out of sour cream and herbs. And don’t even get me started on sour cream cake…
Sour cream, I love you. Don’t tell the mayo.
P.S. If I was a good little blogger I’d make turn this into some sort of inspirational bullshit like, “Today’s lesson is: Try new things, put it in her butt!” or “Sour cream is fleeting, like the sands in the hourglass, these are the days of our lives”. But I’m obviously not a good blogger. I’m eating sour cream. AND I BIT MY TONGUE.