I love a strange bird. He dislikes bacon, strawberries, popsicles, hollandaise, whip cream, stone fruits, pears, apples, and mushrooms. He also dislikes blue jeans, the internet, and suntans preferring instead tailored slacks, Romantic poetry, and pallor. Not wanting to misrepresent him or engage in hyperbole, I asked, “So, do you really hate all stone fruits?” Silence. “You know peaches, apricots, nectarines, plums…fruit with a pit, a stone.” “Oh. Yeah, I’ve heard that term before. My grandmother uses that kind of talk… and yes, I hate all of the things you just mentioned.” “And I’m not misrepresenting you when I say you dislike blue jeans, the internet, and suntans?” “No. I hate all of those things too. This is good, that you’re writing this. The internet should know that I exist. That I’m out there. And that I threaten to destroy it.” “Hahaha,” I thought. “He hates all the things!” Alas, he wouldn’t get the joke. So, Internet, you stand warned. For all his aversions, he loves kale, eggs in any form, stinging nettles, sweet potatoes, pungent cheeses, and blueberries. He very much likes blueberries, regarding them as the superlative berry. I, however, disagree. I don’t dislike blueberries per se, but I’ve always found them to be a bit of a bore. I’m a raspberry sort of girl, yet I turn down the corner of every blueberry recipe I read. This collection of blueberry tarts, pies, galettes, ice creams, muffins, scones, preserves, and cakes dwarfs my collection of raspberry recipes because, you see, they are