Not an Ethiopian

Pliny, I said, you have no idea of the art of riddling. The idea is to think of something ordinary, then describe it in a rhyme, in such a way as to make it hard for anyone to guess what it is.

I did, said Pliny.

No you didn't. You took a piece of misinformation, wrote it down almost verbatim, and then expected me to guess what the piece of misinformation referred to. It's not the same thing.

Are you saying I didn't make it hard enough for you to guess what it was? asked Pliny.

No! If you hadn't told me the answer was the opposite of what I might expect I never would have got it. I'll give you a proper riddle. One I made up years ago. See if you can guess it:

My body is soft and dark and sweet
And coveted by folk with silver knives;
My outer shell is brittle hard and clear
I wear upon my head a hat of white;
My skin is painted with icons and runes
Depicting heroism and despair,
A yellow man, a green, ravaged earth, you will see there;
Protecting these from prying human eyes
A paper coat of many colours I do wear.

WHAT AM I ?

An intriguing riddle, said Pliny. Is it....an Ethiopian?

No of course not. It's a thing.

Is it an egg?

No. Do you want a clue?

Yes.

It's something inside something else. And there is something on the outside too.

This is most perplexing.

It's meant to be. Shall I give you the answer?

Please do.

The answer is: A jar of Nutella, with Homer Simpson playing golf painted on the glass.

Pliny looked puzzled.

Is there such a thing? he asked.

Of course there is, I said.