There is a jar on my, now very crammed, spice rack, still clinging for dear life to the wall it resisted so much, marked sweet sweet. It naturally causes confusion to anyone but me. Then again, it’s my spice-rack so it can be as eclectic and bewildering as I am. It did set the ball rolling on this post, along with some purchased organic parsnips, the really wonderful kind not too long from someone’s garden, and, yes there are some growing in mine, but how they’ll fare is still up in the air, they’re keeping the weeds at bay whereas these freshly purchased ones are keeping Jack in sweet vegetables. Which is where we come in.
Now, you’re naturally thinking that I mean honey roasted, which I don’t, so you’re probably assuming they’ve been caramelised in the pan after boiling or steaming, which again, is wrong, then, Dear Reader, you’re just going to let Jack ramble because you’re so kind-hearted. You see, I’ve mentioned this countless time, but you have to keep pointing it out, I was once morbidly obese and sugary coated, filled and packed everything wasn’t just an option here and there it was life. You wouldn’t believe what I once could eat, I honestly struggle with it. So there’s that sweetness, the sweetness not of a beautiful sunset, the laughter of children or the endless small joys of your everyday lives, but the pleasure of a part of the brain that reacts favourably to sugar, which science can probably explain and Jack is tired of so he’ll let you go to Google, instead of either of these sweet joys I’m talking of a third, why mention the first? Because I’m a jerk and want to keep typing to fill out a post.
So, I’ve given up almost all sugar, in fits and starts, quietly resigned at times and screaming bloody murder at others, and the hardest part of it isn’t that it was difficult, it was hellish, but that people who still consume a vast quantity of sugar, not only do they not realise that it’s everywhere, not literally, stop opening the presses and licking the chairs, Dear Reader, it’s in a lot of food, processed mostly, but you’d be surprised when other people are preparing your food, but they don’t realise it affects their taste-buds so much. Much like a smoker, Jack wasn’t ever a smoker or a drinker, nor a pious, officious jackass, funny that. I also dislike the I Quit Sugar brigade, due to the prevalence of alternatives not marked sugar. That’s another topic for me to alienate readers on, Dear Reader.
So, what am I getting at. We’ve established that there are two types of sweetness. We haven’t? Oh. We’ve only established that there’s the sugar sweetness that most think of when sweetness is mentioned and then I became side tracked. Well, to resume the thread and pick up the parsnip…The what? Ah, he natural sweetness problem. All vegetables, when fresh and grown in preferable conditions, like my garden say, have a natural sweetness that bare any resemblance to sugary food, but in its own right is a blessing to the taste-buds, but if you are a sugar fiend you may have trouble every recognising it. A freshly harvested carrot is sweet, the naturally stored sugars are present in every bite, to me, one who eats like this all the time it’s a joy. When I mention it to someone else it’s a mystery.
Which is a shame, I love the sweetness of cold-brewed tea, freshly harvested vegetables, the slight hit from yellow skinned squash, the surprise in every golden beet and the absurd sweetness of fresh strawberries. There was no way I’d taste or enjoy any of this if I consumed sugar as I once did. Am I suggesting you cut down on your sugar? No, you do what you want. But if you ever read me mentioning the sweet flavour of something that seems savoury then hopefully you’ll remember the two kinds of sweetness and it’ll make a little more sense. All the differences between people can be bridged by a willingness to learn and teach, when willing. That’s really all I have to say, it’s interesting to have been on both sides of so many polarising experiences, tiring too, Dear Reader, but as I have fresh parsnips I’m happy enough for the while. Until later.