Make no mistake, this is going to be a controversial post. Within minutes of this going live, I foresee several angry letters from disgruntled monkeys. They are going to write in to their local MPs, insigate a #BoycottAFB hashtag on Twitter, and picket our offices (i.e. my living room as I sit here in my underpants eating leftover Passover matzos). They are going to shame me so badly that Jon Ronson will include me in his next book. They are going to no-platform me at every gustatory convention in the world. (NB I have never been invited to a gustatory convention, and am not entirely sure if there is such a thing, or what it would entail.) I’m going to become less welcome than a banker at an SWP rally.
And why, you ask, will such a thing happen. Or, in all likelihood, you ask no such thing and get on with your day, swatting aside this smugly glib blog post in favour of much, much more pressing matters. Anyway, were you to ask such a thing, were you to inquire as to the reasons behind my hypothetical future ostracism by hypothetical monkeys, I would tell you. Listen well, listen good:
I hate bananas.I think bananas are definitely the worst fruit.
They do have an advantage in being peelable without the need for handwashing, but as someone with impeccably clean hands at all times, this is of no interest to me. They are also pretty phallic, but this is of no interest to me either. They are yellow, which may be of interest to Rob Auton, but it is of no interest to me. Nothing about bananas is of any interest to me.
Bananas have an absolutely awful texture. It’s like chewing on a mouthful of loose diarrhoea. It’s like chowing down on a nappy that has been simmered for a month in warm milk. It’s like munching on a soggy, tenuous simile. Giles Coren once favourably compared the texture of banana to that of cake (I forget when or where). I don’t know which kind of cake Mr. Coren has been eating, but it must be the shittest cake in the world. Comparing banana to any cake worthy of the name is like comparing the punk band I was in when I was seventeen to The Clash.
Sometimes, it must be admitted, bananas are not all that soggy. Sometimes they have a little bit of resistance; sometimes they are a bit al dente. That is all well and good, but whenever this happens the flavour – which was pretty ropey and nondescript to begin with – inevitably goes right down to the toilet. Bananas with even the vaguest hint of solidity are always bland, or even a little bit bitter. A banana with both a decent texture and decent flavour is an extremely rare beast indeed. They do exist, but, like a [insert witty analogy here] you’d be very hard pressed to find one.
My mum tells me that when I was a baby I used to enjoy mashed-up banana. If this is true, then it explains the damaged, damaged man you see before you now, ladies and gentlemen.