Monday, January 30, 2012
I'm a neurotically picky eater. I'm slightly less picky than I was five years ago, and far less picky than I was ten years ago, but I still have pangs of anxiety whenever I go to someone's house for a meal. My desire not to offend someone by refusing what food they offer is typically smaller than my desire not to eat something that's not on my approved "list."
But a couple years ago I had my first pieces of sushi, some California Rolls. Since then I've had lots of different kinds, including, I'm told, sushi made with eel. I ask my boyfriend to order it without telling me what's inside--I don't want to chicken out, thinking about whatever underwater creature is rolled up with rice--which has led to my most adventurous eating in my life. (There was one roll he ordered, explaining I would be very upset if I knew what was in it. After I ate it (and liked it), he wanted to tell me what it was. But I won't let him. Even now, weeks later, I don't want to know what I ate.)
I shocked my mom; I still won't eat bananas.