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There Are Starving Kids in China
by Michele Christopher
In the never ending elusive quest to find decent Mexican food in the entire state of New York, we came up with a great LNT idea. Let's just cut to the chase. Tonight's "Mexican" was fucking garbage and now we are both sitting around thinking we got ripped off (we did) and we will probably be shitting goo for the next few days. Lovely thought, but I feel I always need to keep you guys informed of our bowels and if they are functioning properly or not.
So anyways, New York has shit Mexican food. I just gotta get over that.
Ok. I'm over it.
Well, not really, but we have to be moving on cause in about 25 minutes, I have a date with a toilet bowl and the train has to come thru!
Anyways, we talked about some of the worst food experiences we ever have had. I mean both of us are really not picky eaters, me especially, but something in our past has turned us away from one food or another. I am sure you have all had some similar experience. A food that you ate and was so bad, you swore off that food forever. Or maybe not forever, but it was on probation for a few years.
So the question is what is the food that you can't eat because of a bad experience?
Here we go!
turtle gets fishy with it.
Back in the days of yore, I ate anything. Really. In fact the worse it looked, the better it tasted. But then one day everything changed. I was in Tahoe with my parents at some fishplace . I think. Something with seafood. I was never a big seafood eater then. I am now, but back in the day, I could take that shit or leave it. So anyways, I really didn't care what I got. That one looked cool. So I ordered. It.
I will say that what I got wasn't that bad. They were scallops. Tons of them. So what the hell. I ate them all with a shitload of tea to wash it back. This part was ok. No problemo, big guy. But the problem came later. My tummy wasn't doing so hot. By not so hot, I mean I was going to be sick. Soon.
My parents ignored my whining and took us out to see a movie where we fucked around until I had to sit down. Then it happened. Just as the lights went down, tons of sea food was coming out my mouth and nose. The place erupted into a stench of that could only be described as something like a wharf after the sailors came home after a few months at sea. One good thing came out of me throwing up everywhere. The guy who was blocking my view moved when my projectile vomit hit the back of his neck.
So after that, I stayed away from any seafood except for fish. And yes, now I do eat that stuff, but it's not like I have an orgasm when someone says "lobster" like some people do. Ya wanna know what lobster tastes like? Eat some melted butter. There ya go. Same taste. Times like these I wonder why lobster gets all this recognition of being some delicacy when lobster used to be the poor peoples food. And somehow I get made fun of when I eat Hamburger Helper three times a day. Hamburger Helper is not poor peoples food, god dammit. Watching Little House all day long.with a pile of The Helper resting on a paper plate balanced on my tummy does not make me a bad person. Little House of the Prairie is a fine show that has a lot of good morals and life lessons in it. And just cause I spend entire days scratching my nuts playing the lottery does not make me poor.
You can take your lobster and BMW's and shove them up your ass while me and my tapeworm watch children go blind on the prarie.
I don't like scallops.
I stopped eating them for about 20 years before I HAD to eat them again. When I say had, I really mean someones dad cooked up all this Italian food and really wanted to meet me so he went out of his way to cook this huge dinner (well, I thought he went out of his way. Turns out Italians do that kind of cooking all the time. Go figure.) So there I was. Sitting face to face with this strange talking family feeding me this soup. Man they talk funny. Have I told you guys how funny New Yorkers talk yet? I might have covered that once or twice before so I will move on to the soup. It was good. It had scallops. I didn't puke. So I guess I am over it. I don't know.
I do know that I miss Mexican food and the stupid dares that go along with it. Eating brain tacos and tongue tacos (kinky) and other shit you can'tpronounce. That's fun.
This is the only thing that keeps me going. Being surrounded by Italian restaurants, you have to keep a clear head and stay focused if you don't want to lose it. Just keep the goal in mind that one day, no matter how hard she tries, Michele will have to come to California with me.
And when she does....
¡Arriba! ¡Arriba! ¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! - T
Michele has on-again/off-again romance with Chinese Food:
Chinese food and I started dating back in the early 1970's. Our first date was at a family style restaurant with about 15 of my closest relatives. It was some kind of party or holiday. I'm not sure, I just remember we were all at a big table and there were heaps of food set in front of us. I was hesitant. Shy. This was my first time. How would I know what to eat and how to eat it? I sat back a little and just watched how the rest of the crowd went at it. Learn from experience.
After about ten minutes of watching what everyone ate, I dug into the chicken chow mein. It seemed like the least offensive thing. I was young. I had a tender palate. My taste buds had yet to get the point of "hell, I'll try anything once. or twice." So it being my first time, I stuck with things I recognized. Chicken. Rice. Some goop that, upon later reflection, looked like mucus. But my mom made food with goop all the time. Sure, I came to realize later that her goops were sauces and gravies, but you've seen one light colored goop, you've seen them all.
The chicken chow mein was not what I expected. I imagined Chinese food would be somewhat exotic, much like my mother's Hawaiin Chicken. Which, upon later reflection, was not so much exotic as pineapple-y. My cousin suggested that I might add something to the chow mein to make it more tasty. I figured I had to, because my dad had this rule about putting something on your plate and eating it. As in, if you take it, you eat it, or we'll stay here all god damn night until you wipe that plate clean because there are starving children in China. Ironic, I know. So my cousin passed the soy sauce. And the sweet and sour sauce. And the hot mustard.
I mixed them all into my chow mein until I had a substance that looked somewhat like vomit with maggots. Mmmm appetizing! I saw my father eyeing my plate. My mother looking at me all disapproving like. My uncle with the look that said "you made the mess, you eat the mess." By this time, almost everyone was done eating. They were all staring at me, waiting to see if I would eat this pile of crap. Ohhh a challenge. I accept. Not only did I accept, but I went one better and threw the rest of the soy sauce into the mix. And then I scooped it up spoonful by spoonful and ate it as though it were the greatest thing I ever put in my mouth. Shut up. I was ten.
I puked about five minutes after I got in the door. I then spent the rest of the night and most of the next day with a raging MSG headache. Not exactly a sweet love hangover. I broke up with Chinese food after the first date.
The break up lasted about 10 years before we reconciled. During those ten years, my aversion to chicken chow mein grew to such proportions that I could barely even think about it without gagging (I am gagging now as I write this). In my mind, that food combo came to be symbolized by someone blowing chunky snot into a plate of worms and handing it to me.
Excuse me while I drink some Pepto.
I was about 20 years old when I decided to give Chinese food another chance. I was both drunk and stoned at the time and I use that excuse to justify my breaking my vow of No Chinese Food Ever Again. When you are stoned, any kind of food is enticing. Suddenly, pork fried rice and egg rolls sounded like seventh heaven. So I let my guard down and let the Chinese food into my life again.
The pork fried rice did not taste as good coming up as it did going down. In the rice's defense, I'm pretty sure it was the combination of gin, cheap beer, rum and Panama Red that did me in. But the rice and egg rolls suffered a case of guilt by association. I broke up with Chinese food again that night.
Cut to seven years later (I think, I'm not really good with the aging math). I was pregnant and having odd cravings. Mostly, I craved cherry Kool-Aid and mashed potatoes but for some reason one night my body ached for some sesame chicken with fried rice. I tried to ignore the longing. I ate some mashed potatoes to take my mind off of it. But the potatoes could not fulfill me the way some deep fried chicken parts could. I couldn't resist. My yearning was too great.
The naseau hit me about 1/4 way through some movie. I flew out of the movie theater and lost the sesame chicken all over the parking lot. Granted, I had been naseaus since the first day of pregnancy, but again. The guilt by association thing. Chinese food lost out once more. And once more I sent it packing.
You would think I'd have learned my lesson and realized that nothing good was ever going to come from my affair with Chinese food. But I am what they call thick headed. I still to this day eat my mother's Hawaiin chicken thinking it's going to be exotic. I still go to Taco Bell expecting it to taste good. I still will eat an entire jar of olives even though I know it will make me sick. Maybe I'm a sadist. Maybe I like being hurt by the food I love. Maybe I need therapy.
Five years later, I let Chinese food back into my life again. We decided, however, to just be friends. I no longer expect it to satisfy me the way I thought it would all those years ago. I no longer crave it or yearn for it. It's just there on those weekdays when I need lunch and only have four dollars and a walk across the street from my office will get me a quickie chicken with string beans. I only eat about half and then throw the rest out before it gets to the point of no return, where I know I'll be complaining about it later on.
But no matter how much Chinese food worms its way back into my life, I will never, ever give in to the chicken chow mein again. Too many bad memories.
And now, I must go purge myself of this bad Mexican food. I have a feeling that a "Dear John" letter to burritos and fajitas is on the agenda for tonight.
So long, Taco Bell. It was beautiful while it lasted.
P.S. to a certain editor: Going to a Del Taco when we get to California does not qualify as having Mexican food. -M
So there are our two. I guess we could toss in something like sea urchin. God, that is horrible. I really think that sea urchin sushi was really made as kind of a bet between Japanese people ("Oh stupid Americans. Let's see if they will eat this! Haha! They did!") but I think anyone who has had it before knows my pain.
Anyways, these are them. Tell us your food experience that totally turned you off from something.
Hell, I can't even eat Pizza Hut anymore cause my brother told me how they make it.
So what are yours?
Michele and Turtle are currently fighting over the bathroom