KIDNEY beans. Please, no, anything but those damned infernal kidney beans. As a child, these hateful crimson crescents sat somewhere between liver and tapioca in the list of frightful foods—although, I’m not entirely sure why. Liver, cooked in the English prep-school fashion and riddled with sinister tubes, had all the appeal of a used Ultra-Marathon insole, whereas tapioca had the texture of terror. The beans, however, with their bland taste and soft, unthreatening texture, offered no such visceral disgust, more Cliff Richard than Sid Vicious. They were harmless, blameless and utterly uninspired.
Still, I would forensically pick them out from wanly insipid chili con carne and secrete them in my pocket, ready to be disposed of later. I wouldn’t merely cross the road to avoid them, rather traverse entire continents,…
