My name is Lucy and it’s been two hours since my last caper.

I don’t mean a whimsical skip about a meadow, either – I’m talking about the green squishy buds that taste of salty heaven. Part of the reason I started this blog was that I go through these borderline-worrying whims with food and drink; I get obsessed with something (see salted caramel and Leon egg pots) and begin looking for ways to consume it again soon. These tasteworms (mouthworms? Any oral version of earworm sounds horrid here) are then on my mind far more than any actually-important things like Operation Trojan Horse or the World Cup.

So when I had a ridiculously good olive, caper and anchovy pizza at Franco Manca (an obsession in itself) last week, I should have known it was going to get me hooked. Since then I’ve stocked up on them at home, added them to pasta for my work lunches all week, ordered things that will specifically come with capertastic tartare sauce and, yes, even grabbed a few straight from the jar when I needed a fix. I also blame a recent trip to Santorini, where our hotel’s signature Aegean salad was made extra delicious by goat’s cheese and a healthy sprinkling of island-grown capers.

Why is is that really salty things always have the potential to be properly addictive? Or is that just me? I’ve done this whole circus with anchovies, Ritz crackers, sea salt chocolate and many, many types of cheese.

Anyway, see you around. I’m off to plunge headfirst into a vat of caponata.

Next week: caper berries. Don’t even get me started…


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