Olives hold a special place in my family, and with my friends. They are perhaps the ultimate love it/hate it food. I love them. Colleen, my fiancee, hates them. My mom and brother love them. My dad hates them. Some of my friends love them, some hate them.
Of course, it's only natural that Nick's tastebuds should be the ultimate battleground and proving ground for the humble olive.
If he hates them, then they are truly the devil's fruit (vegetable? soggy delicious nut? complex alien matter? what genus are olives, anyway?)
If he loves them, then they are truly the food of the gods, as I've always suspected.
Now a few weeks ago, my mother fed Nick a black olive from her submarine sandwich. According to verified reports, Nick squished it, dropped it on the floor, stomped on it and walked away in disgust. The early returns were not promising, I grant you—as far as Colleen was concerned, it was a dead issue. Nick hated olives. All was right in the world.
But it had been a black olive—which, in my estimation, are spongier and more tasteless variants of the green alive (that was a missed keystroke, alive instead of olive, but I'm leaving it because olives make one feel alive, don't they? I'm calling them alives from now on, in fact).
So anyway, the test had to happen again. With a green alive. If Nick hated it, so be it. At least we would know for sure. The following video is documented proof. Nick versus The Olive.
All best, Craig.