They’ve gone there: Kale Soda. Here is an excerpt from a review:

Since they didn’t add any coloring to it, the soda pours completely clear. It’s sort of like a Sprite from hell.

And this:

Tasting the drink revealed that this oddball soda has a reasonably sophisticated flavor. Or, as a friend put it when he tried it, “disturbingly refreshing“.

Many people are spending Valentine’s Day alone, and it appears — at least for the ones who use ordering apps like GrubHub — many plan to spend the day pigging out on wings, waffle fries, and pizza rolls. GrubHub data shows that singles are more likely to order these indulgent delights on Valentine’s Day than couples.

“What America Eats on Valentine’s Day”

But how do they know who’s single?

About 25% of the population can’t taste propylthiouracil (PROP), a chemical that is similar to the bitter compounds found in cabbage, raw broccoli, coffee, tonic water, and dark beers. They are, in essence, “taste blind.”

There are 25 “bitterness” genes known thus far; different bitter foods act through different receptors, and people can be high or low responders for one but not another.

“Taster’s Choice: Why I Hate Raw Tomatoes and You Don’t”

I found this so interesting: taste blindness. Like how someone who is red-green colorblind not only experiences red and green differently, but also purple and pink and orange. Do people who can’t detect certain tastes experience a whole range of foods differently as well? Think of a curry or coleslaw or even a gin and tonic. How do they taste different to someone who can’t taste propylthiouracil?

“A creature that hides and “withdraws into its shell,” is preparing a “way out.” This is true of the entire scale of metaphors, from the resurrection of a man in his grave, to the sudden outburst of one who has long been silent. If we remain at the heart of the image under consideration, we have the impression that, by staying in the motionlessness of its shell, the creature is preparing temporal explosions, not to say whirlwinds, of being.”

Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space