I don’t really like chocolate, and I’m okay with that. Most people I know aren’t. They insist that I’m either lying or delusional, or more likely, both–whatever it is, not loving chocolate is considered inherently suspicious. I, on the other hand use it to justify the many things that I do like (butter, lamb meat, large quantities, sometimes all of those, together–and much more). “Hmm, a fourth serving of sticky rice seems a little bit piggy, but hey, everyone ELSE had chocolate,” I say to myself. As is the case with every rule (or mild declaration, in this...
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