I'm a big fan of contrasts and the transgressive.
I love contrasting textures when I eat:
the crunchy exterior of a baguette versus its gossamer interior;
the crackle-goosh of juicy, crispy fried chicken;
the feeling that I'm breaking a tiny elf's stained-glass window and scooping out dollops of glory whenever I eat a crême brûlée.
I love the sight of a lone Catholic nun in a sea of Buddhist nuns.
I love the sight of the lone black guy in a stadium full of white folks.
I love the sight of the lone white dude in a restaurant full of black folks.
I love the sonic peaks and troughs of Debussy's "Clair de Lune."
I love the way that Eric Clapton's "Layla" segues into a complete piano non sequitur.
I love it when a black comedian makes fun of a white accent—to a white audience.
I love it when it a white comedian makes fun of a black accent—to a black audience.*
I love the idea of a Korean taco truck cruising through a hardcore Latino barrio.
I think it's perfectly okay to pile crispy potato chips into your hamburger.
I love the three-year-old in church who starts shouting, "Fuck! Shit!" while resisting his embarrassed parents' attempts at shushing him.**
I love black-and-white line art.
For much the same reason, I love Korean and Chinese calligraphy.
For much the same reason, I love Frank Miller's black-and-white graphic novels.
I love interreligious dialogue for its particle-collision factor—that clash of orientations and philosophies and worldviews.
I love seeing a very old person hugging a very young person.
I love soft ice cream and hard cones.
I love Doritos and dip.
I love seeing a happily married couple whose differences are what keep them together.
I love jaywalking. But only when it's safe to do so.
I love the person who figured out that pork and apples go together.
Speaking of pork: what can possibly beat the combination of crunchy bark and succulent meat in a well-made pulled-pork sandwich?
But as much as I love contrasts and transgressive things, I hate eating beetles.
*It may be that only Robin Williams could have gotten away with this.
**This really happened at my old church. I'm sure the parents were mortified: kids often repeat in public what their parents say in private, so the kid's profanity was as much a commentary on his parents as it was on the kid himself.