One shouldn’t spend too much mental energy hating Valentine’s day. There are far more important things to call an end to: cool white light bulbs, SAA and slashed jeans all spring to mind. But one thing that does irk me about this tradition is the greater than usual presence of truffles.

I don’t mean the musky fungus which hounds unearth so you can shave it over pasta, but chocolate truffles. It seems curmudgeonly to hate these seemingly innocent little bites, but I don’t hate all truffles. What I hate are the impostors, which now go by the same name, and which I’m pretty sure should answer only to the name confectionery.

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