I've never actually tried polenta. But I want to. Badly. It always looks so enticing in its squishy plastic wrapping with little ends tied up like candy. It's the soft, plastic-coated texture and the appealing bright yellow. It's impossible to read a vegetarian cookbook without at least seven references to polenta. Polenta, it seems, is often fried, which can't be a bad thing. Yet I doubt I will ever fry myself some polenta. Nor will I bake it. Polenta is beyond me somehow. I can't cook, I don't like to try new foods, and anything described as "a thick mush of cornmeal" feels too Little House on the Prairie, even for me. I am destined to always be curious about polenta but lack the courage to try it.
I guess it would be more accurate to say that I hate the power polenta has over me.