Last Call: Raisins, My Grapes Of Wrath

Here at The Takeout, we have a policy to never "yuk on anyone's yum." This is a policy I fully support—every food, just like every person, has something beautiful about them. Raisins, however, are my sworn mortal enemy. We have an actively antagonistic relationship, and while I shall never begrudge anyone enjoying them, writing a kind word about raisins is antithetical to my very existence.

Unlike other foods I despise, my hatred of raisins is multilayered and complex. Their texture is always terrible, whether in their natural state resembling unpleasantly chewy gravel, or if they've been rehydrated into sugar boogers. They're deceptive, often making you think they're something exciting, like chocolate chips, only to disappoint you in the most heartbreaking of ways—not only are you not eating chocolate, you've been duped into eating something healthy. I do not care for dishonesty from my fruit!

But of all their many, many sins, the worst thing about raisins is their arrogance. Raisins think they can mosey their way into any dish they want without announcing their presence. If anyone really liked raisins, they wouldn't have to sneak their way into carrot cake or apple strudel. If I wanted raisins in my cheese danish, I'd order a "raisin and cheese danish." You don't see this sort of behavior from dried cranberries or apricots, neither of which I have a problem with. I don't like duplicity, and I will not reward it by writing positive things about raisins.

If you must love raisins, I fully support you, and wish you well. Please understand that when I write about raisins, I am not yucking anyone's yum. This is about principles, and it is about ethics. Raisins need to act like all the other dried fruits out there, and learn to stay in their damn lane.