Mint is a lovely herb. The Greeks pair it with lamb; Martha Stewart infuses it in her lemonade. A chiffonade of mint graces Babbo’s glorious “Mint Love Letters,” a pasta that confirms mint’s extraordinary versatility. I applaud the use of mint in the kitchen, both restaurant and home. Where I draw the line, though, is the bathroom: mint does not belong in soap. Especially the soap in Craig’s sister’s bathroom. This being the soap:
As a final addendum to my Seattle trip, I’d like to tell you a story. The story begins with yelping. We were staying at Craig’s sister’s apartment and Craig heard me yelping in the bathroom. Craig knocked on the door, “Why are you yelping?” And I answered, “This soap…this peppermint soap…it’s burning…it’s burning down in my special private place.” I heard vicious laughter and Kristin (Craig’s sister) joined in. “Adam, how do you like my soap?” “It hurts!” I yelped, as my special private area felt like it had frozen over like a lake in winter. With fat kids ice skating on it. I thought I was damaged for life. My children would have four eyes and eight ears and would audition for American Idol.
Peppermint works in toothpaste. It also works in mouthwash. But that’s where the marriage of food and hygiene ends: peppermint doesn’t work in soap. Especially if you’re male. Especially if you value your privates. Male readers: consider yourselves warned.