So I’m a very picky eater. Always have been. I have memories of my mother trying to force-feed me vegetables and me crying and saying I’ll never eat them. In fact, I only started eating vegetables after I got married just over five years ago. Up until then, potatoes and onions were it for me.
Today we had a catering company come to our office for a tasting as we try to find the caterer for our annual holiday party. A bunch of us were in the kitchen having lunch, when one of the caterers came in and asked us if anyone wanted the last two thai shrimp rolls. Laura took one and the other sat alone on the platter for a few moments before I said, “All right, I’ll take it.” This is very brave of me – the only Asian food I like is from the takeout place down the road from my house. Laura took a bite and started moaning about how good it was, so I gamely took a bite of mine.
And wanted to spit it out.
It was horrible. I don’t know what was in it, but there I sat, with a mouthful of…crap…and nowhere to go because I’m surrounded by co-workers and the CATERER. My co-worker Cathleen said, “Jane, you are being mighty quiet,” and I quickly said, “My mouth is still full,” hoping that would diffuse the situation. But meanwhile the substance attempting to pass itself off as edible was still in my mouth and NO WAY was it going down my throat.
Finally, the caterer moved away and I swallowed the bite since I couldn’t very well spit it out. I turned to Cathleen and mouthed, “That wasn’t very good,” and she laughed. Meanwhile I dove into Mary’s spicy fries, hoping to deflect the taste of that awful awful thing I ate.
I’ll never volunteer for tasting duty again. I can’t handle it. Unless it’s cereal or french toast. That I can handle.