Let me make something perfectly clear.

A couple of weeks ago, my dear friend Anna and I were out getting a quick lunch together. We both ordered the same thing: a spinach and feta wrap from our favorite gyro place. As she adorned her wrap with the contents of the ranch dressing packet that accompanied her wrap, I ignored mine completely and began eating.

"What, you're not going to put any ranch on your wrap?"
"No."
"Why not? It must be kinda bland without it."
"Condiments are the spawn of Lucifer."

She slowly lowered her wrap from her incredulous face, gaping at me as though I had just told her that Leonard Nimoy is the second coming.

"...Are.. you... insane."

But let me tell you something right now. I am not insane. Why not? Because CONDIMENTS ARE FROM THE FIERY, SULFUROUS UNDERWORLD. I hate condiments. All of them. Ketchup? Gag me. Mayonnaise? I would rather eat Madonna's pussy. Mustard? Only in very small quantities hidden in my egg salad. Condiments are disgusting. They mar the beauteous quality of any food they come into contact with. I hate condiments. WHO'S WITH ME.

In a similar vein, I am a bit of a purist when it comes to some foods. (By "purist" some might say I mean "insufferable snob", but hey, that's on them.) Take, for instance, the raspberry.

Would you just look at that? Some people would look at this gem of nature and think: "Jam! Cookies! Cobbler!"

Not me. Friends, this is how I have always and will always eat a raspberry:

1. Rinse thoroughly to remove any unwanted guests of the insect variety that may be cuddling inside my raspberry's luscious interior.

2. Pick up berry. DO NOT POP IN MOUTH. Instead, hold up for just a moment in the sunlight. Admire the way the water droplets shimmer enticingly on the rotund crimson bubbles of the raspberry's exterior. Feast your eyes upon the tiny iridescent hairs that sprout innocently from the cracks in the berry's flesh.

3. Now, place in mouth. Slowly. Close eyes, if not driving heavy machinery. Focus on nothing more than the burst of sweet, summery juice inside one's mouth (ooer) and heave a great sigh of content.

4. Repeat.

In case you hadn't noticed, I fucking love raspberries. They're awesome, and I scorn anyone who maintains that a few cups of sugar and a 350 degree oven will improve their inborn awesomeness. Class dismissed.

p.s. By the way, this blog is hereby officially rated R. R for recipe-tastic! Oh and I also swear a lot.