Dude, you have to realize that you’re revealing more about yourself than about other people? It’s ludicrous–verging on clinically paranoid–to insist on a conspiracy of people who would secretly rather be drinking MD20/20, but who instead drink something unpleasant just to make you feel inferior.
Some people don’t have tastebuds as sensitive as others’; some people have a different emotional response to food; everyone has a unique relationship with food and what they like and don’t like.
It sounds like you have a LOT more issues with the social implications of the food you eat than the sniggering cabal that exists, I assure you, only in your head.
Just because you like well done meat better than less well done meat in no way makes it necessary to insist that EVERYONE secretly feels the same way, only they’re afraid to reveal their nasty little secret. Your tastes are your own. I don’t know why you need to prove that your tastes follow some kind of universal standard, even if no one else has the courage, like you, to admit it.
I can’t speak for everyone else, but I can tell you most emphatically for myself, that I have eaten a lot of meat, of any and all possible degrees of doneness, and when I make steak for myself, at home, with the shades drawn, I make it medium rare. I have finally perfected my technique to get my steak exactly how I like it best, after many, many iterations of cooking time and temperature, and how I like it best is just past the cusp of red-to-pink. As it gets more well done, as the grey/brown encroaches on the pink, and as the center turns paler pink, the meat begins to lose some of the winey tartness of pink meat, and begins to taste a little duller, a little drier. You may not like that winey tartness; you may like the more rounded, smoother flavors of more fully cooked meat. Good on ya. But try to to tell me that, secretly, I do too, only I’ve been seduced by a cultural conspiracy.
I went through the same thing with red wine. Hated it. Bitter, nasty stuff. Then once, in a fancy restaurant–teenager, mom, broadway show (tuxedo!)–I had a glass of GOOD red wine. It was like a movie in a my mouth! It didn’t just slam into the back of my throat like a wad of bitter; it changed from second to second! The tarry bitterness I’d always associated with red wine was simply absent, and in its place were a series of delicate little flavors that told a story as they passed over the surfaces of my tongue and passed down my throat, as their essence passed over my nasal passages when I sighed in bliss. I was like Helen Keller kneeling in the mud! So THAT’S what it’s about! The unique stature that wine has as one of the single most essential components of the whole history of human culture is not an accident of fashion, nor is it a millennia-long conspiracy of snobbery. That night, I discovered the “magic” of red wine. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I can tell you emphatically for myself, that I would rather pay $50 for a great bottle of Zinfandel than be paid $50 to drink a bottle of MD20/20. And you to tell me that I’m just the gullible victim of a conspiracy of snobs is insulting to me, and paranoid of you. Have a little humility dude: your tastes do not determine the universal standard.
I don’t look down on you for liking different things than I do. I’m a bit bewildered, and it makes me wonder about things like individual variations in taste buds, and how important are the things we eat as children to the tastes we develop later in life. It piques my curiosity, but engenders no feeling of snobbery. Sorry, just not there.