Taste is not a fixed sense. It mingles and matches other senses. Taste and smell always seem to go together. What’s delicious is more than nice. It must have a distinct context. Appearance comes into the equation too. What was delicious is a shorthand description of an embedded memory. A memory of a sensation.
My offering is a sweltering hot day. Really hot and dry. A Sicilian piazza and a desperate need for ice cream. If there is better pistachio flavoured ice-cream on the global, I’d like to taste it. Sitting in the shade in Catania[1] my spoon scooped up something special.
John Vincent 