Baron Tasty lived in Tasty Manor at the top of Tasty Street. Early each morning the baron sat on his balcony with a little coffee cup perched on top of his mighty stomach. He sighed. If only he had someone to share his morning coffee with. Or, more precisely, if only he could share his morning coffee with Baroness Bookworm! He could just picture her there beside him, her head bent over a book, her fine hair wisping about like a cloud of candyfloss. Unfortunately, the Bookworms loved reading, and the Tasties loved eating, so they didn’t have anything in common.

A few years ago he’d set his heart on Marquise Musicale. He had sent her chocolates and invited her to tea. He’d got all sorts of special treats for her, and had waited expectantly while she nibbled a macaron and put it back on her plate, unfinished.

“Don’t you like it?” he’d asked anxiously.

She hadn’t been paying attention. She had sat there looking vacant, stirring her tea round and round so the spoon made an annoying ringing sound.

“It’s wonderful,” she had murmured. “A wonderful teacup. Can you hear that? It’s almost a C. Just a little sharp.”

There had been sandwiches, scones, three kinds of cake and macarons, but she’d barely eaten a thing. Baron Tasty had felt crushed. How could things have gone so wrong? Perhaps his cook had made a mistake? After she left he finished all the food and it was just as delicious as it looked. He was mystified.

Then he’d gone to a party where he’d overheard her saying “Baron Tasty?” in an incredulous tone. “All he thinks about is food! He’s tone deaf. He can’t sing. Doesn’t even have a piano in the house. Doesn’t play any instruments at all. How could he, with those fat sausage fingers?”

All the women had laughed.

Baron Tasty had never forgotten that moment. He looked down at his hands now as he lifted his coffee cup again. They were perfectly good hands for a Tasty. They just weren’t the type of hands that played the piano, or turned the pages of books. It was better to stick to things he knew than risk being laughed at like that again. Food was always pleasant and comforting and never said bad things about him.

He surveyed Tasty Street through his binoculars. The houses glowed lemon yellow, duck-egg blue, and mint-green in the apricot morning sun. The shopkeepers slowly appeared, flung up their shutters, opened their doors, pulled out their jolly striped awnings, and set out their goods. At the greengrocer’s, shiny brown onions hung down in long strings. Huge barrows of knobbly, red-skinned potatoes were lined up neatly outside. There were wooden crates of plump ripe pears, juicy purple figs, and apples of every size and color. At the fishmonger’s, sardines were piled on mountains of glistening ice, as fresh and cold as a dip in the Atlantic. Birds of every kind hung outside the butcher’s, their feathers ruffling in the breeze, along with fat bronze-colored hams and strings of dried sausages.

Baron Tasty sighed. He’d seen it all before. Everything was stale.

Wait – what was that – a new shop? He focussed his binoculars on the shop window. A confectioner’s! There was the shopkeeper now. He had large, round, owlish glasses and his hair was covered with a colorful bandana so he looked like a cross between a schoolteacher and a pirate. He opened up the shutters to reveal his window display: a whole forest of lollipops in every imaginable color. In the middle of the display was a beautiful little doll-sized house made entirely of nougat – it was the baron’s mansion! How incredible!

Baron Tasty hurried out to have a look. He strode confidently down the street. He enjoyed walking and carried his belly proudly before him. A man should be proud of his stomach. A big belly was a constant reminder of all the delicious things you’d ever eaten. This bit of belly was once a particularly nice pastry. That bit was once an excellent roast beef dinner. It meant that even at moments when he wasn’t eating, he had a firm sense of who he was: a Tasty, descended from a long line of Tasties, continuing a proud tradition of eating. At moments of doubt or uncertainty he only had to pat his belly to be comforted by the memory of food.

Of course, not everybody felt that way. Marquise Musicale, for one. Her comments had given him a twinge of self-doubt. And Sir Sporty was always telling him he should lose weight. But Tasty felt sorry for thin people. Take Baron Sartorial. His legs were as skinny as French beans, the better to show off his fancy trousers. Sartorial spent much more time looking at fashion magazines and going shopping than he did eating. It was sad, Tasty reflected, to think of him wasting his life on something so silly, and missing out on so much pleasure.

Baron Tasty went into the confectioner’s shop. He bought a green and pink striped lollipop and sucked on it while he contemplated the other options. There was a lollipop as large as a walking cane. It was most amusing. Imagine if he bought it, and nibbled on it as he walked about!

Before he could buy it, there was a commotion on the street. A carriage was coming up the hill. It looked like Baroness Bookworm’s carriage. But there was a man with her. And instead of horses the carriage was pulled by – what on earth were those things? They were striped in black and white, like mint humbugs. The baron stepped out of the shop to take a better look.

“Good day to you, Tasty!” said the baroness. “You look very well!”

Baron Tasty blushed a little.

“I haven’t seen you for a while,” said Bookworm. What have you been doing?”

“Oh – nothing,” said Baron Tasty. He didn’t like to say “eating,” in case she laughed. “How about you?”

“Oh, reading as usual. There are so many books to read. There’s always something new to learn.”

Baron Tasty felt like that about food. There was always something new to eat. But somehow he couldn’t make the words come out right.

“Allow me to introduce my friend Baron Menagerie,” said Bookworm. “He’s just returned from a Safari.”

“Delighted,” said Baron Tasty, although he didn’t feel at all delighted. “And what on earth are those marvellous creatures?”

“They are called zebras, sir,” replied Baron Menagerie.

“Are they tasty?”

“Good heavens, no! They are a most exotic creature. They cannot be eaten.”

“An animal that can’t be eaten! But what is the use of such things?”

Baron Menagerie and Baroness Bookworm both laughed. Baron Tasty blushed again. As soon as he strayed off the topic of food he made a fool of himself.

“Well, some animals are useful for sports, or as pets, or for work. But most are just interesting to keep in zoological gardens and study. Take these zebras, for example. Their stripes help to confuse their predators – lions – because lions can only see in black in white.”

“Gosh,” said Tasty.

“Is that why a group of zebras is called a dazzle?” asked Bookworm.

“It could be,” said Menagerie.

“Oh, I’ve read about so many interesting creatures but never actually seen them outside of books. Menagerie is going to show me his zoological gardens. You must come and take a look, Tasty!”

Tasty was not interested in zoological gardens, but if Baroness Bookworm was going, he was going too. He clambered into the carriage and she pushed a parcel of books aside to make room. It was rather snug. Tasty carefully folded his arms and hid his hands under his jacket.

“I just read a fascinating book about Indian food,” Bookworm said. “Did you know that chilli peppers aren’t native to India? They come from South America and were introduced to India by the Portuguese.”

“Gosh!” said Baron Tasty. “I didn’t know there were books about food.”

He felt quite uncomfortable being jostled around in the carriage without holding on to anything, but he didn’t want to risk her noticing his hands and thinking they were sausage-like.

“Oh, there are books about everything! And the more I read about the world, the more I enjoy it.”

“Doesn’t it take away the mystery, knowing about things?” asked Tasty.

“Oh no! You should try it. When you know the recipe you can appreciate the skill of the cook even more.”

Baron Tasty had never thought about recipes before. He had servants to prepare his food. He’d never thought about how his food was actually prepared.

“Anyway, Baron Menagerie is writing a book now, all about African lizards. There are so many different species! It’s all so fascinating!”

For the rest of the journey Baron Menagerie talked about lizards. Baron Tasty was dejected. He couldn’t hope to fascinate Baroness Bookworm. He didn’t know any fascinating facts. He didn’t even know any facts about food. He just liked eating.

When Baron Tasty returned home he was carrying a small brown cardboard box. The shopkeepers whispered anxiously about the box – what if it contains some new kind of treat they hadn’t discovered how to make and Tasty started shopping somewhere else?

That evening Tasty showed Baron and Baroness Sartorial the treasure in the box.

“This is a tortoise,” he explained, lifting it out carefully.

“It’s quite small,” said Baron Sartorial. “Will you fatten it up and make tortoiseshell buttons from it?”

“No, no – it’s a pet. I’m just going to watch it creeping about eating lettuce.”

“You’ve never been interested in pets before.”

He didn’t tell Sartorial that he wasn’t interested in pets, but Baroness Bookworm had expressed a great interest in them, so he’d got one.

Baron Tasty named his tortoise Tommy. He invited all his friends to come and see him. He changed Tommy’s water, topped up his food bowl and watched him slowly stretch out his long leathery neck and munch.

But gradually it dawned on the baron that Tommy was listless. He spent a lot of time hiding inside his shell. Sometimes he overturned his food bowl and walked away from it. Tasty tried to consult with Baron Menagerie, but he was on Safari again. Tommy seemed bored. And if he was bored… did he have other feelings, too? Did he experience joy and sadness? And what about other animals? Did they have feelings too?

The baron felt uneasy. Such questions had never troubled him before. Whenever Baron Tasty was uneasy he felt a little peckish.

So he went to the confectioner’s. He bit into a shiny golden caramel. A look of surprise and delight crossed his face. Was that – could it be – delicious fresh peach hidden within the hard caramel shell? He tried another. It was salty and fishy and disgusting.

“What are you doing?” he said. “An anchovy, in caramel? Are you trying to poison me?”

“No sir,” said the confectioner. “I am trying to surprise you. Life can be very dull if we only ever eat the same food and experience the same things every day. Sometimes an unpleasant surprise can be as good as a pleasant one. It makes you realize you are alive.”

The baron pondered this.

“Do you think animals feel the same?” he asked.

“I’m sure they do sir.”

“Maybe that’s it,” said the baron. “Tommy’s bored. The pellets that I feed him aren’t tasty or interesting. After all, I wouldn’t like to eat dry pellets every day.”

“Indeed,” said the confectioner.

“I wonder …” said Baron Tasty. “Perhaps I could surprise and delight my tortoise with different foods, in the same way these sweets surprised me?”

The confectioner smiled a secret smile with one corner of his mouth. “I’m sure you could sir,” he said. “An excellent idea.”

Tasty bought a book about tortoises and started giving Tommy lettuce and vegetables and fruits. Sometimes he hid food under the food bowl, or placed the bowl on a stool, so that Tommy had to hunt and climb for his food. Now he was just as excited by food as the baron was.

That evening after dinner he sat on his balcony with a glass of port. Tommy crept out slowly and sat down by his feet. The baron reached down and scratched the top of his head a little bit and Tommy stretched out his neck and closed his eyes in appreciation.

Baron Tasty sighed. “Having a pet is much more difficult than I expected. Maybe I should stick to what I know and stop trying new things. What do you think?”

Tommy stared at him.

“Well, I don’t mean I’m going to get rid of you, of course,” Tasty said. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

Tommy closed his eyes gently.

The next day the baron took a walk to think things over. He ambled down Tasty Street. He munched some marshmallows and a bag of roasted chestnuts. When he got to the butcher’s shop, he paused. Those dead birds twisting on their ropes made him think of poor Tommy. Did pheasants cry? That was just one of many things that he didn’t know. He didn’t like the idea of dividing animals into the edible and inedible. After all, Baron Menagerie had a man-eating tiger–skin rug. From a tiger’s point of view, Baron Tasty was an edible animal. He felt uneasy about the butcher’s and hurried past, without going inside.

For his next dinner party, the baron invited all his usual friends: Baron and Baroness Sartorial, Baron Sporty, Baron Menagerie, and of course Baroness Bookworm.

As the guests waited in the drawing room, Tommy entered the room and crept across the parquet floor.

“Did you know,” said Baroness Bookworm, “that the collective noun for a group of tortoises is a creep?”

“Really?” said Baron Tasty, who had not known.

“But it’s highly unlikely you would have to use that term ever, because they are naturally solitary animals,” said Baron Menagerie.

“Yes, he does seem quite happy on his own,” said Tasty.

Tommy paused and stared at Baron Tasty.

“Although he’s very good company,” Tasty said.

Tommy blinked and plodded on.

For dinner there was a delicious salad of beautiful garden vegetables. The Sartorials tucked into it happily. Baron Sporty munched his up in no time, and ate up all the bread as well.

For the second course the footmen brought out – more plates of colorful vegetables.

“What’s this, old chap?” said Baron Sporty. “No meat?”

“Well,” said Baron Tasty, “I’m a vegetarian now.”

All the glasses in the room paused in mid-air. All the eyes fixed on Baron Tasty. Baroness Sartorial made a little sputtering noise. After a few moments Baron Tasty realised he ought to say something. But it was rather difficult to explain.

“The thing is,” he said, “I wouldn’t like to be eaten. Animals probably feel the same.”

“See what you’ve done?” said Baron Sporty, pointing at Baron Menagerie. “We shall have no more good dinners here.”

“Oh dear,” said Baron Menagerie, “that wasn’t what I had in mind at all.”

Baron Sporty poked his vegetables with his fork. “Where’s the protein?” he asked. “You need to eat more nuts. Got to keep your strength up.”

“Nuts?” said Sartorial. “Oh dear, no. Nuts are very fattening. You know Tasty this diet could be good for you, help you slim down for a new suit.”

“You’re very forward thinking,” said Baroness Bookworm. “Many of the greatest minds in history have been vegetarian; like Leonardo da Vinci.”

Tasty sagged in his chair. None of his friends understood him. Around the table the Sartorials picked at their food, Sporty wolfed it down quickly, and Bookworm ate mechanically while surreptitiously glancing down at a book hidden under her napkin. His friends didn’t really appreciate food like he did.

The next time the baron went for a walk on Tasty Street the butcher and the fishmonger glared at him angrily. Hardly anybody was shopping there anymore.

The baron felt alarmed. Whenever Baron Tasty was alarmed he felt a little peckish. So he went to the confectioner’s. When he got there he was surprised to see that the confectioner was also selling cards, wrapping paper, and small gifts. Tasty popped a strawberry cream into his mouth and said, “The butcher’s not doing too well these days.”

“Indeed sir,” said the confectioner.

“And you’re selling new things.”

“I’m branching out,” the confectioner replied. “After all, a shop doesn’t have to sell only one thing. Life would be very boring if we never tried new things.”

“Do you think everybody feels the same?” asked the baron.

“I’m sure they do, sir.”

“I wonder … maybe there’s something else the butcher could try? I could ask him what else he likes and help him start a new business.”

And the confectioner smiled a secret smile with one corner of his mouth. “Of course you could sir. An excellent idea,” he said.

So the baron asked the butcher what he liked.

“Well,” said the butcher, “I like carving things with my knives. It’s very satisfying.”

“Perhaps you could try another trade that involves cutting things up with sharp tools? With the right investment?” said the baron.

And so the butcher’s shop became a toy shop. The butcher carved wooden toys for children, and sold all sorts of games and sporting goods.

The baron went to the fishmonger.

“I’m not interested in anything except fish,” said the fishmonger.

“But I’ve always wanted to be a florist,” said the fishmonger’s wife. “Flowers are lovely and clean and they smell nice, and there’s no nasty mess to clean up afterwards.”

And so the fishmonger’s wife became a florist and the fishmonger became the florist’s husband.

Baron Tasty sat on his balcony with his tiny coffee cup and looked over his street. He glanced at the empty chair next to him, then scooped up Tommy and put him on the chair, so he could enjoy the view. Perhaps he should invite Baroness Bookworm to tea, just the two of them? But perhaps she would just read her book the whole time? He thought of Marquise Musicale saying “fat sausage fingers,” and shuddered. He didn’t want to go through that again. And Bookworm didn’t really like eating. She preferred reading about things to doing them. But then he couldn’t really force other people to like the same things he liked, could he? The problem was, people were all different.

The baron felt anxious. Whenever Baron Tasty was anxious he felt a little peckish. He ambled down to the confectioner’s shop. He popped a peppermint into his mouth. There were a lot of pink heart-shaped boxes on display, each one filled with a different type of sweet.

“Why do you have so many different options?” he asked.

“Well sir, everybody’s different,” said the confectioner. “It’s important to choose a gift that shows you know what the other person likes.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Tasty. “I wonder …”

“Yes sir?” said the confectioner.

“Oh, nothing,” said the baron.

The confectioner smiled a secret smile with one corner of his mouth.

Baron Tasty returned home to think. He paced up and down the picture gallery with a plate of biscuits. Tommy settled down in a corner and watched him.

“It’s no good, Tommy,” he said. “I’m a Tasty.” He gestured at the portraits of his plump, smiling ancestors on the walls. “The Tasties have always enjoyed eating. And she’s a Bookworm. She’s from a long line of Bookworms. She likes reading. We can’t just start liking new things, can we?”

Tommy pulled his head into his shell.

“Well,” said the baron. “Don’t take it like that. I mean, of course I like you … and then I became a vegetarian … I suppose my ancestors wouldn’t like that …” he trailed off into silence.

“Alright, Tommy!” he said. “Since you insist, I’m going to the bookshop.”

Tommy poked his head out again and the baron gave him a nice scratch.

Baron Tasty came home with an illustrated book on the history of food. He was reluctant to start reading it, but once he settled down with a nice pot of tea and a few pieces of buttered toast, he started to enjoy himself.

“I know, I know,” he said, glancing at his painted ancestors. “But it’s about food!”

He was looking for exactly the right thing: when he came across a passage about pomegranates, he knew he’d found it. The goddess Persephone had travelled to the land of the dead, eaten six pomegranate seeds, and been confined to there for six months of the year. It was a strange tale, but what interested Tasty were those six pomegranate seeds: only six. If you only ate six little seeds you’d have to really taste them, wouldn’t you?

Tasty wrote to Baroness Bookworm, which took him a long time, because he didn’t write much. He copied out the story neatly and asked her to eat only six seeds, very slowly. “Don’t read anything while you eat,” he wrote, “not even this letter. Just concentrate on tasting the food.” Then he put his letter in a nice box, along with a pomegranate, tied it with a pink ribbon, and posted it to Bookworm.

Bookworm wrote back to him, sending a book by somebody called Proust, and the suggestion that he eat madeleines. Tasty found the book far too difficult, but he enjoyed the cakes. And with Tommy beside him and some well-chosen snacks, he started to enjoy reading. It was just as Bookworm had said: knowing more about things made them more interesting, not less.

This made Baron Tasty wonder what else he’d been missing out on.

He went to see Sir Sporty.

“You know, I’ve never seen the point of sports,” he said. “But maybe you could show me why you like them? What sports do ladies like?”

“My dear Tasty,” said Sporty. “Ladies love dancing you know. I can teach you.”

“Oh dear,” said Tasty. “I thought it would be something terrible like that. But I would like to try.”

Sporty was a surprisingly good teacher, and soon had Tasty waltzing.

“See? It’s fun, isn’t it?” said Sporty. “With a little more practice you’ll be a credit to any dance floor.”

Tasty had to agree. It had been a marvellous afternoon.

“I’d like you to do something for me,” he said. “Next time you come to dinner, try to enjoy the food. Don’t think about what healthy fuel it is for your sports, or move all the cutlery around to explain a football match. Just try to enjoy it. Like I do.”

Sir Sporty was astonished, but he agreed to try. After all, Baron Tasty had been a good sport.

Next Baron Tasty went to the Sartorials.

“Well,” said Baron Sartorial, “you haven’t lost nearly as much weight as I expected.”

“Biscuits are vegetarian,” Tasty said.

“Never mind,” said Baroness Sartorial. “We can still get you out of those old-fashioned things and into something stylish.”

“A beautiful outfit always starts with footwear,” said Sartorial.

They had Tasty at the tailor and dressed up beautifully in no time at all. As he looked at his reflection he was quite pleased with the results. He felt good in his new suit: elegant, even. He held up his arms and tried a few waltz steps. With his new outfit, he felt more confident. Perhaps the Sartorials’ obsession with fashion wasn’t so silly after all.

He thanked them, and repeated his request for them to come to dinner, and try to enjoy eating.

“Even dessert?” said Baron Sartorial. “But we never eat dessert!”

“I’d like you try. Just once in a while. After all, we are friends, aren’t we?”

They had to agree.

The next time Baron Tasty had a dinner party, he was able to look around the table in satisfaction at his friends enjoying themselves and appreciating the food. Maybe not as much as he did, true, but it was enough. And these days they all had plenty to talk about. Baroness Bookworm didn’t have a single book with her. They smiled at each other across the table.

Finally Tasty worked up the courage to invite her for tea alone. As they sat together in the garden he lifted the cloth off the cake, and iced onto it in neat little letters were the words “Dear Baroness Bookworm, will you marry me?”

“Oh Tasty!” she said. “I thought you’d never ask. But there’s a problem. I can’t become a Tasty. I’ve learned to enjoy eating, but I’m a Bookworm. We’ve always been Bookworms, for generations!”

“Oh dear,” said Baron Tasty. “I’ve learned to like reading too. We could join together, and become the Tasty-Bookworms?”

“Oh no, that will never do,” said Bookworm. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Well … my first name’s quite normal. It’s Daniel.”

“Oh! I’m Matilda.”

They ate quietly for a while.

“You know, Daniel,” said Matilda, “we could just choose a new name. Something very ordinary and boring, like Smith. Then we can like anything we want.”

“Smith?” Baron Tasty’s face opened up into a huge, dimply smile. “I suppose so. After all, we don’t really need to be named after our hobbies, do we? It seems a bit silly. A person doesn’t have to like only one thing, do they?”

He reached out and took her hand.

“I suppose our ancestors won’t like it.”

“Oh, they won’t mind,” said Matilda. “They’re dead, aren’t they? Where would we be now if people had only ever done what their ancestors did?”

Daniel laughed. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith it is, then.”

Tommy blinked his approval from under the tea-table.