A House Guest in France, Part VI

Something that you should know about me. Until the age of about 25, I was a very,very picky eater. The foods that I would not touch were many and varied, to the point actually, that I started to forget what foods I ate and which ones I didn’t. Pain in the butt for everyone around me? Yah, I guess so. I wasn’t one of those really obnoxious picky eaters though. If offered something on my lengthy “no go” list, I would politely refuse and wait for the Tater Tots to come around or simply eat all the bread sticks within reach. Never, did I turn up my nose and say something like, “Broccoli? Eaugh!”, or any other reprehensible behavior. I’m not really sure why I was a picky eater, but I was. The plate that I had just been given would have made me pass out prior to my conversion to omnivore.

Luckily, at some point, I decided that the “picky eater” thing was all rubbish and tossed it out the window. I started to try everything again and I’ve done pretty well. To my amazement, I find that I like just about everything and rather pride my self on it actually. The first food I discovered that I truly didn’t care for was Rhubarb. Other than that and about five other items, that’s about it for “no go’s”. I also swore that I’d try everything that came my way that was within reason. This plate in front of me though, pushed me right to the edge. My mother, however, taught me manners and I was a guest in the house of a man whom I had just met and he was offering me his food out of kindness. I smiled and took a large dollop of mustard.

Our host turned to Action Girl and started to cut her a piece. “Some for you?” he asked hopefully. “Ah… I’m afraid I’m vegetarian.”, she grimaced. “Oh, sorry about that. But it’s alright. I have some lovely fresh bread and olive spread.”

What I wanted to yell was, “FOUL! NO FAIR!” and I eyed her plate with envy. Our host looked back at me with a hopeful smile and I sliced off a good sized piece of my brain-jello. I figured that the fewest bites needed was preferable to drawing it out. A healthy coat of mustard and down it went. It was cold, mostly tasteless and had the consistency of congealed bacon grease. I got it all down, but it was an exercise in self control and gag reflex suppression.

When the last piece was gone, our host immediately lifted the knife to carve me another glutinous slab. “No! Really! I’m fine!” I blurted out to prevent a repeat performance. “Are you sure? You must be hungry?” he added with an arched eyebrow. “Ah, no. I’m all set, but thank you though!” I hoped I wasn’t too transparent. “You don’t like it do you?” He added, matter-of-factly. I decided that the truth was the way to go. “Um… No, not really.” I was almost immediately sad that I had said this because our host looked chagrined. “That’s too bad. I really hoped you’d like it” Great. Now I really felt like a heal. “A friend of mine dropped it off to me as a present and I can’t stand the stuff. Grosses me out. I was really hoping you’d eat it.”

The shock on my face must have been visible form Mars because he immediately burst into laughter and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a very good man for having forced it down, though!” That set the tone for the time we spent there and we all got along famously. In one soggy plate load of cold brains, I had gained his admiration and respect. I had also earned the right to sass back when he deserved it. We all had a great time. Action Girl and I intended on being there for three days but at our host’s insistence, wound up staying for a week. I can’t wait to return some day and when I do, I’m bringing him some brains.

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One Response

  1. hahaha, brilliant 😀

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