What does hope taste like?
Hope is an elusive commodity. It is something that tantalises and teases us. We all feel it from time to time, and when we don’t, we ache for it, which is itself a sign of hope.
To be without hope is to be hope/less, which is a very repugnant flavour indeed. Hope can be pouring over the tattslotto ticket, searching the inbox for that email from that special someone, or even awaiting the results of that medical test you had exactly 5 days 2 hours and 16 minutes ago.
But what if you could describe Hope as a dish or a flavour? How would you describe it?
I guess that it would be like a very small dish of Cajun Seasoned Almonds. The size and quantity are important here, for hope seems to be doled out in very small portions. I think this is because we have been disappointed in the past by any number of circumstances and plops from on high, so we dare not invest too much or expect too much.
The flavour of hope should spark our palette and imagination. It should lead us on to wanting more, longing for more, hoping for more.
Hope is definitely an entrée or a tapas. It is not supposed to be the last course. It is supposed to be the very first. The starting place, and whilst we will always need hope, it should lead us onto the next course. That is its role. To help us look forward to what is to come.
The cajun spiced almonds should be served with a very small glass of refreshing bubbles, just to cleanse the palate and entice us onwards. What might be the next course? What fresh and wonderful dishes are in store for us?