Caviar: (n) the pickled roe of sturgeon or other large fish, eaten as a delicacy.
Fishy, mushy and salty. That’s how I would describe caviar.
Fish, themselves, have to be careful not to be too fishy.
We normally fry our mush so it won’t be mushy.
And salty is a lovely taste if it’s bringing out another flavor which takes predominance.
I won’t even mention the abortion of sturgeon babies that’s involved in the process of putting together this little delicacy.
But I did learn a long time ago that part of being opulent is convincing yourself that you like things that other people don’t, simply because they cost a lot of money.
It doesn’t matter if it makes you miserable or if it causes your taste buds to recoil. Learn to enjoy it so when people see you doing it they will place you in a category which is superior to the norm.
It also explains much of fashion, music and politics. If there’s money for it, then there must be a reason for it.
I am hardly a country person–but if offered caviar on a cracker, or sausage gravy on biscuits, I will pull my chair up with those south of the Mason Dixon line.