Crappy Anniversary!

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

Today marks the 10th anniversary of a very special occasion. It’s not a day that I set out to purposely remember, nor is it a day I logged into my list of events. But, as luck would have it, today is exactly one day shy of my sister-in-law Kara’s wedding and, therefore, it was on this day back in 2001 that I attended her and her fiance’s wedding rehearsal and subsequent dinner.

Why is that day so significant, you ask. Good question: ten years ago today was significant because it was on that day that I had the extreme misfortune of putting into my mouth the most disgusting food in my life. Ever.

Let me explain…

Although there are some foods I generally don’t choose, there’s precious little that I find absolutely disgusting. Actually, I’d be hard pressed to name any foods that completely repulse me. There are, however, a few foods that I can not and will not consume by themselves. Milk, for example, is a beverage I can’t stomach. But a bowl of cereal is just fine. Cheese and eggs, too – in a salad or on a sandwich I love them, but I avoid eating chunks of cheese and I never order scrambled eggs or hard-boiled eggs at restaurants. And I might also mention pasta: if it’s strung thin, a’la spaghetti, that’s cool, but those sheets of lasagna are unpalatable (even the texture makes my tongue shriek back).

Now let’s consider some things that can detract from a food’s savoriness: Did you ever eat or drink something while thinking it was something else? I did. I recall once, at the movies, my wife went to get a beverage. When she returned, I saw the beverage was dark and assumed it was iced tea. I took a big gulp. “Oh my God, what is this stuff?” I said in horror. “It’s root beer,” she responded, “what’s the problem?” Well, there was no problem, it’s just that my palate was expecting something else.

Second, do you ever go to a fancy-schmancy restaurant and thus expect to consume a really great meal, only to be left ambivalent? Yeah, that’s happened to me, too. It’s a classic case of having one’s expectations raised too high.

So there I was, sitting at the end of a table in a party room, enjoying the meal that was given to me and other members of the family and wedding party. My wife sat to my left, and her aunt JoAnne was to my right. A couple of times that evening, I had heard that the dessert awaiting was top-notch. After all, it was created by the groom’s mother – and she was known as a wonderful cook.

After dinner, I went up to get a piece of the dessert. Unbeknown to me, my wife had already tried a bite of the dessert and was quietly disappointed. As I carried it back to my chair, my mouth was watering at the looks of it: it appeared decadent in richness, with what appeared to be white chocolate in thin layers (such as you see on a French silk pie), held together with a creamy goodness that looked to be the same stuff bakers shove into donuts (though, I hoped, ten times better).

I sat back down and picked up my fork. Cleaving off a generous portion, I brought the attractive, rich dessert to my lip and gently set it on my tongue. HOLY CRAP! Did that ever taste worse than repulsive. Immediately feeling the dry heaves, I puked it out of my mouth onto the plate and said, “What IS this thing?!?” While JoAnne turned red with laughter and couldn’t stop giggling, my wife scolded me for throwing etiquette to the wind and verbalizing my enormous, sudden hatred for the groom’s mother’s confection.

“James!” she shouted at me, “Don’t be so loud! You’re embarrassing!”  JoAnne continued to laugh. “I’m sorry Jennifer,” I said (lying), “but that is the nastiest clump of whatever I have ever put in my mouth.” Again, Jennifer yelled at me for saying such things, and JoAnne continued to get a good laugh. When she saw me the next day, before the wedding, she again laughed at me, even before saying hello.

I’m trying to think of how to describe the taste without being too terribly crass…so…here goes:

Pour about two cups of milk into a blender. Then add two hard boiled eggs. Then add a block of cheese. No, not provolone or Monterrey jack, something that just barely qualifies as cheese…say…American. And don’t grate it, oh no, just place in a big half-pound block of it. Now, start the blender, but don’t set it to PUREE; CHOP would be a more appropriate setting.

After about 15 seconds, pour the gloop into a latex glove (or condom, depending on whichever is available). Tie off the open end. Now place in the refrigerator for 10-15 days.

Ready?

Now just bite into it.

If you think that it sounds like eating vomit, you’d be wrong. As a person who has vomited, and loathed at the taste it left in my mouth and the acidic revolting sensation of my own spit, I gotta say: vomit tastes better.

I think that experience, which haunts me even to this day and is causing my stomach to do cartwheels just reflecting on it, did have one positive side effect: it has meant that whatever I am served at anyone’s home or restaurant is sure to leave me satisfied by comparison, if for no other reason than because my taste buds live in fear that if they complain, they may be abused so maliciously a second time.