When Good Things Taste Bad

I am an absolute sucker for a quick fix. I have no will power, no sticking power, and am swayed so easily it’s embarrassing. I am also, as my mother told me when I was six years old and knew every jingle on TV, an advertisers dream.

Over the years this has resulted in some bad, bad purchases. Student days and daytime television watching meant a foray into the QVC channels, and I may or may not have purchased a number of knives that would never need to be sharpened, non-stick saucepans which would never need scrubbing and maybe even a piece or two of gold-plated jewellery that looked more real than the real thing. In fact a faux Faberge egg may have even headed my way. This tendency to be suckered in has matured with me, so while now I’ve totally wised up to the ‘and all it will cost you is $10’ being screamed from the screen (for those that don’t know there’s always another $100 in the small print), now my specific area of weakness is health and beauty.

Which is why a beautifully packaged sachet of Turmeric Latte is looking out at me from my pantry. The combination of the golden autumn colours and the word latte were just so inviting, that the turmeric part became lost in the mental picture of nurture in a cup. Now when I saw this in the supermarket I had some fuzzy recollection of Dr Oz (affiliated with Oprah, so definitely the real deal) telling me via his talk show, that Turmeric was the bomb. I don’t quite remember why, but I was left with the feeling that Turmeric is most definitely the shit and I needed some. As though some latent hypnotic memory had been awakened, when I saw that Turmeric Latte on the supermarket shelf, despite misgivings, I swapped out the bottle of bubbles in my basket and happily skipped to the checkout.

Excitement was almost fever pitch as I warmed my milk and prepared myself mentally for my new journey to good health. Nothing could have prepared me for the cup of gritty, curry flavoured disappointment. I do not exaggerate when I say that no amount of added syrup was going to make this palatable, and even Starbucks would struggle to spin this into a tasty beverage. This – and I can’t believe I’m even saying this – for me was worse than apple cider vinegar, and that’s saying something.

The upshot is I’m a bit bummed. Between making the purchase and arriving at home I had already imagined the new, clearer skinned, less wrinkled me. No longer would my cholesterol be through the roof, and any excess abdominal fat was going to dissipate by the end of the first drink. So now it looks like I’m going to have to buy some more anti-wrinkle cream, keep taking the statins and go to the gym. Bollocks.