I’m not going to say the word ‘curdled’. I like you and don’t want you to die.
I love what you did with this and do agree (also being a picky eater) that no one gets the last word on what makes any experience.
For me, it’s almost never the food.
I once ordered a chicken dish at a restaurant in Kathmandu so spicy that everyone told me not to order that dish. I did. I even encouraged the waitperson to ‘bring on the heat’. When the food came, it was accompanied by the entire kitchen staff who surrounded me to watch me eat it. I can’t imagine what they thought would happen, but it was delicious. Still, not as delicious as having dinner with the entire kitchen staff.
This reminded me that years ago I used to teach high school classes to adults who never graduated. This lovely older man invited me to his house for dinner one night. I didn’t mention I was vegetarian because I figured there’d probably be other things to eat and I didn’t want to make him and his wife nervous. The meal turned out to be one thing only: steak. A slab of steak the size of the entire dinner plate. Nothing else. Not even a baked potato. It was just like your story. I spent a long time cutting it up and moving it around. Fortunately, they had a little dog who kept visiting me from beneath the table. I managed to feed the whole steak to the dog without the couple ever knowing.
Ewww… pineapple! Probably because my dad hated it. Do we we adopt our parents’ dislikes? Someone came to cook in my kitchen and scoffed at my jar of garlic and I didn’t have fresh cloves of garlic.
Another great one, Diana! As you may recall, I am revolted by mayo (I don't even want to type the full word because it makes me cringe, and I know I'm dramatic about it). My grandmother mistook it for a glob of suntan lotion and rubbed it into my arm. Then, I baked in the sun and my arm smelled like garbage for what felt like years. I am a super detector and I resent people who try to slip it by me (for example, by calling aioli). I've always been picky and you're absolutely right; it's great to be an adult and eat/not eat whatever I please.
I hate fish and live in LA, land of sushi. I've had a few times where I got to a dinner and fish was the only thing on the menu (one time when I lived in NYC/knew you and one time at my MOM's, who refuses to remember that I hate fish and I kid you not, served SHARK that night).
I’m not going to say the word ‘curdled’. I like you and don’t want you to die.
I love what you did with this and do agree (also being a picky eater) that no one gets the last word on what makes any experience.
For me, it’s almost never the food.
I once ordered a chicken dish at a restaurant in Kathmandu so spicy that everyone told me not to order that dish. I did. I even encouraged the waitperson to ‘bring on the heat’. When the food came, it was accompanied by the entire kitchen staff who surrounded me to watch me eat it. I can’t imagine what they thought would happen, but it was delicious. Still, not as delicious as having dinner with the entire kitchen staff.
This reminded me that years ago I used to teach high school classes to adults who never graduated. This lovely older man invited me to his house for dinner one night. I didn’t mention I was vegetarian because I figured there’d probably be other things to eat and I didn’t want to make him and his wife nervous. The meal turned out to be one thing only: steak. A slab of steak the size of the entire dinner plate. Nothing else. Not even a baked potato. It was just like your story. I spent a long time cutting it up and moving it around. Fortunately, they had a little dog who kept visiting me from beneath the table. I managed to feed the whole steak to the dog without the couple ever knowing.
Ewww… pineapple! Probably because my dad hated it. Do we we adopt our parents’ dislikes? Someone came to cook in my kitchen and scoffed at my jar of garlic and I didn’t have fresh cloves of garlic.
Another great one, Diana! As you may recall, I am revolted by mayo (I don't even want to type the full word because it makes me cringe, and I know I'm dramatic about it). My grandmother mistook it for a glob of suntan lotion and rubbed it into my arm. Then, I baked in the sun and my arm smelled like garbage for what felt like years. I am a super detector and I resent people who try to slip it by me (for example, by calling aioli). I've always been picky and you're absolutely right; it's great to be an adult and eat/not eat whatever I please.
One of my greatest fears is unknowingly consuming raw garlic.
I hate fish and live in LA, land of sushi. I've had a few times where I got to a dinner and fish was the only thing on the menu (one time when I lived in NYC/knew you and one time at my MOM's, who refuses to remember that I hate fish and I kid you not, served SHARK that night).
I love you. This one made me laugh so many times.
I dabbled in vegetarianism for a few years. Didn’t care for it much.