I don’t care how long you soak dates for, or how much you blend them into a pulp, they will never not be the texture or have the taste of DATES. They overpower any recipe they’re in, making everything date-flavoured – not at all like caramel, or honey, or whatever else @OrganicMamaInfluencer95 on Instagram tries to convince you they’re a suitable substitute for.
Now, I know that dates have a long history of being consumed and enjoyed in the Middle East. Their place in Arabic cultures and recipes is not something I want to disparage by any means. What I cannot abide is white wellness warriors spouting them as some universal superfood alternative to sugar, and the suggestion that their “healthier” recipes are anything but sad, squished date creations.
Here’s a wild concept – and I say this to myself as much as anyone else – if you want to eat something that tastes “just like a decadent, fudgey brownie” maybe just … eat a decadent, fudgey brownie, made the plain old-fashioned way with plain old sugar? And if you’re craving a Snickers bar, then maybe just – call me crazy – eat a Snickers bar, and stop trying to gaslight yourself into believing you’re actually enjoying a sad, nut-smeared date?
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I mean, if you do enjoy nut-smeared dates, more power to you – go forth and eat them to your heart’s content. But please, eat them for their own sake. Eat them because they’re dates, and not because someone on Instagram is trying to convince you they’re something they’re not.
Ultimately, what I’m asking for is not just freedom from dates but also freedom for dates. They must have a worse case of impostor syndrome than a whole convention of adults who were formerly gifted children.
It’s time to let dates be their ugly, shrivelled-up selves, in all their datey flavour and texture. They have a place in the world, too. Just not in my sweet treats, please.
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