My word vocabulary always ran ahead of my phrase vocabulary, causing hilarious confusions. I'm sure it's typical. Baby formula, ham radio, spare ribs. Speaking of spare ribs, food vocabulary never aligns with food experience. It's like having two friends you can't believe don't know each other since they're both totally into the same things. Two kinds of knowledge which run in completely different circles. You eat things but don't learn their names till later, you read about things you never eat but hate them anyway because of their names, you eat things and think you don't know their names but it turns out you do, you eat things and think you know their names but it turns out you don't, and the name you thought applied is actually the name of something that isn't food at all but is instead a geographical zone or a person or an illness or old Word War II slang or a word which doesn't exist at all in any language. You eat things and don't know their names and then you find out and wish you hadn't. The taste of a food can change dramatically once you learn what it's called. I've suddenly disliked foods, even experienced retroactive disgust, after being told the name of what I've eaten. Sudden sorrow can imbue the food experience from numerous linguistic directions, in other words. Terminological regret lurks around blind corners, waiting to spring out and ruin your meal. Conversely, some things are called pie and we are predisposed to like them for that reason alone and they do not disappoint, these pies, pie being a word which is just a pleasure to look at and think about, its little three-letterness and lovable sound, a basket of puppies kind of word, a word whose charm radiates behind the dish it represents like a penumbra, amplifying the pleasure of the eating experience to the point where simply telling yourself you are eating pie as you eat pie makes you smile and desire another slice of pie, and then there's the principle of the anti-pie.