In Defense of a Blander Approach

My husband starts peeling garlic cloves before the table’s even set.  He tastes my soup with a wary tongue, and then ambushes the flavor with pepper.  He was there when fire was first invented.  And like father/like son, having witnessed the taste battles close at hand, our progeny heads off to the trail where only spice hunters go. For a long time, I tolerated the macho spicing ceremonies —  with a good share of disdain.  And while they grabbed for their SpiceMan mustard, I inched my way to the the milder blend, proud that my knowing taste buds managed well on their own.  I was once convinced that my taste-deficient family members deserved my sympathy, as I passed them their volcanic sauce and sighed.  You’ve heard of Alan Alda, I suppose.  And which type of palate he says is the best — not another word.