Cinnamon

Yeah, I know what you're thinking... "Another food post?"  Well, you're right... this time.  Hopefully, there will be something else that you can take away from this than, "Boy, that Todd really loves his food."  That would be correct, too, I suppose.  Quit being right all the time!

Okay, so try to remember the last time you had cinnamon.  Was it earlier today?  A couple of weeks ago?  Maybe it was a nice warm cinnamon roll; maybe it was a piece of cinnamon-flavored candy; or perhaps it was a nice big bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch?  Okay, got it?  Well, you're wrong.  Or, at least, you're probably wrong.  You see, those of us in the States probably have never had "true cinnamon", as it is called.  Almost all "cinnamon" that we consume is actually a relative of cinnamon, called cassia.  That cinnamon roll you had? It's a cassia roll.  The Cinnamon Toast Crunch?  More like Cassia Toast Crunch.  Those cinnamon sticks at the grocery store?  Yep, you guessed it; cassia sticks.  In fact, if you were able to do a side-by-side comparison, you would find that cassia really doesn't taste like cinnamon at all.  True cinnamon has a lighter, almost citrussy flavor compared to the harsh, hotter flavor of cassia (or so I've read).  This is not to say that cassia doesn't taste good.  It's just not cinnamon.  It's considerably cheaper than true cinnamon, and that's why it ends up in all of our spicy candies and yummy baked goods.  We've been sold on cinnamon, but what we end up buying is a cheap approximation called cassia.

This made me think.  How many other things in life do we end up buying, because the world says it's good, only to find out later that it's a cheap substitute for the real thing? How many times have we bought into the lie that acquiring more money, or more stuff, will make us happy? How often do we confuse religion with godliness?  How many times do we accept the substitute of lust for love? How often do we try to be popular instead of building closer friendships?

Cassia isn't bad; it's just a good metaphor for what we allow ourselves to accept.