For years, my friend Michelle refused to eat coconut. I always forgot if it was her or my other Hawaii friend, but I knew it was someone close to me. When a group of us were at a lunch buffet a few months ago, Michelle returned to the table with a slice of coconut chiffon cake. I expected her to at least scrape the shreds off the frosting, but no, she dug right in.
"For some reason, I thought you didn't like coconut." I had already assumed I was thinking of the wrong friend. I mean, clearly, here she was, eating it by choice.
"I didn't used to."
I knew it! She spent all of junior high, high school, and the vast majority of college crinkling her nose at the very mention of coconut. Part of me always suspected it was an intentionally ironic gimmick--a Hawaii resident disliking a signature tropical fruit (nut?), much like our vegetarian classmate whose favorite food was steak. Go figure.
But the formerly anti-coconut friend said she forced herself to get used to the flavor and has now decided that she likes it. I'm not sure it works that way, which makes me that much more suspicious of her initial distaste. She used to hate coconut as much as I hate blueberries, and I puked blueberries out my nose when I was five, so that's saying something.
I don't know why it bothers me so much that my friend apparently willed her taste to change. Maybe because I lost a partner in despising a random fruit. Maybe because it makes me wonder if she was lying about coconut all along. Or maybe because it implies that she, a squealing fan of Taylor Swift, is more mature than me.
Did I say any of this to her? Of course not. If it makes her happy, let her eat (coconut) cake.
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