There is a packet of boiled sweets in the corner of my kitchen.
It was gifted, just under a week ago, by my friend Lydia. One sweet, and I was lost. They were a heady mixture of fruit and aniseed, and I vowed to track down their source and obtain a lifetime’s supply with all speed.
The taste is unconventional: when my little ones pottered home from school, I did the self-sacrifical mother thing and offered everyone a chance at one of the coveted little lozenges.
To my intense delight, Maddie told polite untruths about how delicious it was, and quietly ditched it the first moment she thought I was not looking: and Felix gagged violently and shot off to the toilet for a more high profile disposal.
When Phil walked in, I urged him to try one. They are delicious, I told him.
Alas, we share so many tastes, but aniseed is not one of them. He spat it out unceremoniously and admonished me because it has been 18 years, and I still don’t know every one of his likes and dislikes.
So there I was, with a bag of sweets I adored, and no competition. Clearly, they were an acquired taste.
But taste can range far beyond a sweet tooth….
There are good composers: and then there are great composers. Those whose music changed our perception and our direction for all time.
Looming at the gateway to the most flamboyant muscial century, a century of virtuosos and salons, vapours and arias: there, frowning, hunches Beethoven.
I know, without question, that he ranks among a handful of the greatest composers who have ever lived. But even he wrote some music that was an acquired taste.
I adore his life story, that of a troubled genius with a furrowed brow.
Towards the end of his life he lost his hearing. Modern-day thinking blames it on lead poisoning, but we shall never know for sure.
His house was filled with pianos which were damaged and broken, because he used to hammer the keys so mercilessly in the hope of hearing what he wished to write.
In 1822, a Russian prince offered a kings ransom to Beethoven, that he might write three string quartets. Using the the concert hall of his inner being, he did so. And the results were confounding.
No-one quite knew what to make of them. They inspired much the same reception as my sweets. One onlooker commented: “We know that there is something there, but we do not know what it is.”
A fellow composer, Louis Spohr, started by calling them “indecipherable, uncorrected horrors”.
But over the decades, across the centuries, society has matured. Just like a child who looks at a ball with puzzlement one year, and can play with it the next, we acquired the taste for Beethoven’s late work.
He was treading a path ahead of mankind. A lonely, absorbing business.
Working three days a week managing a theatre, I came upon many people who seemed convinced they were doing just that.
Our programming often veered towards the avant garde.
One night I arrived home at midnight, after a shift. Phil and the children were slumbering happily in bed.
This, when the children were young, was very precious time: I had no immediate call on these hours, and I was so high from the theatre I needed to wind down.
I used to put on the television and watch mind candy.
And tonight, I kicked off my high heels, made a cup of tea, and sat down to find there was something very different on my television screen.
It appeared to be men in wolf costumes dancing to some sixties music. And they were rather good.
I was hooked: I watched on to find this was the work of a comedy duo whose popularity was growing fast, in student circles at least.
They are called The Mighty Boosh, and they are an extremely acquired taste. No: they are simply extreme.
I could hazard a guess that they might appeal to, oooooh, five per cent of my readership.
While they appear outlandish and they walk right across any borders of propriety very early on in their creative development, they struck a chord with Phil and I.
We know every episode by heart, and certain moments are a common point of reference between us. We love the Morcambe-and-Wise slapstick central pair, Vince and Howard: a perfect study of flawed but constant friendship.
And the bit-parts are just as fabulous: a Camden shamen called Naboo, a guerilla called Bollo who can spot speed cameras well before anyone else. And our antihero: a man named Bob Fossil.
A corpulent, badly dressed manager with the perception of a small child and the memory span of a goldfish, Bob was everything we loved to laugh at. The actor who played him, Rich Fulcher, manages to be both a master and a disaster in his role.
We went to see the stage show for a landmark birthday. And years later, we went for one of our weekends in London which recharge our batteries so much.
Sunday morning: we had had a hotel cooked breakfast and were replete. I think we were off to Covent Garden. What we were doing at Holland Park tube station I will never know.
We crowded into one of those lifts, the huge cattle herders that carry shuffling Londoners into the bowels of the tube system.
And I glanced across to the other side of the lift, and there stood Bob Fossil. Looking distinctly hung over.
As befits London, the entire lift, some thirty people, was silent as the grave. Saying something to alert my oblivious husband was not an option.
I tried eye rolls, graduating quickly to eyebrow sweeps. When this did not work, I jerked my head, first, I thought, inconspicuously, but with increasing pantomime. My husband remained clueless.
Finally, whispering followed by urgent conversation in a muted voice resulted in recognition.
Now: what to do , to show our adulation for this gentleman, so dishevelled and unwell, yet so much to our tastes?
We were never the type to hang back. I waited until the lift began to empty and told him in a few words of his excellence. Phil wrung his hand. And then he went on his way, and we went ours, eyes glazed with triumph.
Taste is a very personal thing, isn’t it? Some tastes take time to sink in. Others are simply not for us: still others are central to our lives.
Which ones are keepers, only time will tell.
Kate Shrewsday 
I love aniseed and I adore The Mighty Boosh.
Yes, I am part of your 5%.
Aniseed AND Boosh! It doesn’t get much better than that:-) I thought you might be, James…
I’m with James, what a happy, exclusive little club we are 🙂
So, what’s the name of the sweets?
You’re a Boosh fan? Really? I may have to do that silly little convent-girl jumping up and down thing! How exciting! They’re all coming out of the woodwork on Facebook too. I have not mentioned it for more than 90 posts because it felt like a guilty secret. Well, now we’re out and proud. Just off to check the name of the sweets for you. Hope it’s still on the lamentably mangled bag…
Aniseed and licorice – flavours of childhood for me: hated by the rest of the family… so I’m with you there.
Never heard of this Mighty Boosh- sounds like I could be missing out 🙂
I wouldn’t try too hard following it up unless you have extremely avant garde tastes. It truly does take a lot of getting used to….good to know I have another liquorice fan on board!
(i think my prior comment got lost in e-space). so i’ll try again.
i have a tendency to collect and horde random, meaningless tidbits. so here’s one about the little aniseed:
remember bird flu + tamiflu?
Shikimic acid, a primary feedstock used to create the anti-influenza drug Tamiflu, is produced by most autotrophic organisms, but star anise is the industrial source. In 2005, there was a temporary shortage of star anise due to its use in making Tamiflu.
p.s. Beethoven and Bach are permanent residents in our house.
p.p.s. i have a crush on rachmaninoff.
Ohhhhhhh Theue, you just get better and better. Someone else with a Rachmaninov crush. And thanks for the star anise snippet. I love the thought of you collecting all these fragments of the universe and storing them in some hope chest, like so much intricate lace, ready for some day’s blog…
Ps, for some incomprehensible reason, your comment came into my spam queue. The nerve of some people….
Ditto, me toooooo…. 🙂
Try agaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiin……..
I love aniseed And the Mighty Boooooosh
Oh, I get it, thought you were like Theue and couldn’t get your comments heard.
Well, slap me with a wet kipper. You too….posts on FB will never be quite the same again.
Is it today you’re off to Cyprus? Have a fab time, girl, get some rays, have some pina coladas, think of me slogging away at the old keyboard….
What is the name of this candy? I love anise! The beginning of your story makes me think of something I only just discovered this past spring in Paris: Speculoos. I have gone 21 years not even knowing of its existence, and when it hit my tongue, oh sweet heavens! I don’t think it is an acquired taste, however… everyone I’ve shared it with here in the US has gone head-over-heals for it. I did acquire the taste for Marmite this summer, thought…
As for composers, it upsets me when people say Richard Wagner is an un-acquirable taste because of his racial views. His operas are just so good!!!
My appy polly loggies — “Mighty Boosh” Never heard of!
Don’t apologise…probably best that way…..:-D
Do you know, Andrew, I have been eating these all week and never looked at the packet! I shall check for you. Speculoos sound wonderful, and what better place to discover a confection than Paris. I’m off to try to find some now!
I really hope you can. The two words that come to mind when I think of it are “life changing.” So good, it’s almost as if America is not ready for it. We’re all still hung up on Nutella
Ooh! Aniseed love it! And Beethoven, and Bach, and Verdi. Not heard of the Mighty Boosh; but will keep a lookout to see if it finds its way down under.
Have to go do some moving about – cholesterol is down at last 😀 But sugar is up 😦
No boiled sweets for you then….very glad your cholesterol is behaving. Take care, Liz, and take your time:-)
Have you tried aniseed on your unsuspecting mutty yet, Kate.
Dogs are supposed to love the stuff!
Don’t think he’ll start composing, though!@
Love Dad
Coincidentally, Dad, one fell on the floor and he gave it a brave try. But alas, aniseed was not for him.
You must remember that he has very peculiar tastes indeed: when we put his food in to disguise pills and medication, he seeks out the pills and eats them first.
Well the sweeties are just humble Aniseed Twists from Julian Graves. I would also recommend Fox’s Dark which are even more delicious if you can believe it. I will bring a bag of those for you next time Kate. I am still enjoying the benifits of the brief regression to my forest dweller life. Sweet chestnuts freshy fallen to the forest floor. Laying like a carpet of green Stickle Bricks. I couldn’t resist!!!!!!
I think of you every time I see them now, and Mad and Felix have a project to collect you a nice succulent bag.
Thanks for braving lack of broadband Lydz, to bring us news of the sweets. they have been creating quite a stir…..
Not a photo I expected to see when I logged onto your site. You are always full of surprises.
Nothing quite as funny an an undermanager without his trousers. Thinking about your post, I can guarantee Bob Fossil boosts my creativity!