D had a son (whose name I forget; let's call him S) who was of some age old enough to talk but not old enough to really understand the social graces who from time to time accompanied D to events. After some sort of embarrassing situation, D explained to S that it was not polite to say in the host's hearing that he didn't like the food. So they worked out a little "code", where if S felt he needed to let D know he didn't like something, he would say it was "interesting". At some party or dinner or something, S was served something he really hated; I have no idea what it actually was, but let's imagine it was liver and Brussels sprouts en casserole. S takes a bite, and says, "Dad, this is very interesting." Another, and, "Dad, this food is *very* interesting." A little more, and "Dad, I just can't tell you how *interesting* this food is!" The hostess, smiling, says, "So, you like it?" S, not able to take it any more, screams "NOOOOOOOO!"
To this day, use of the word "interesting" often conjures memories of this story. In particular, this exchange in catalana's journal brought it to mind.