Taste Like Chicken

It is my belief that there are two types of people in this world. Those that do, and those that do not but, before your minds wander too far down the slippery slopes of licentiousness (you know who you are). “It” is not what some of you might be thinking. No, the two types of people I am talking about today. Are those who will try new or different foods, and those whose idea of new and exciting cuisine consists of trying to eat their Chicken McNuggets with chopsticks? As life would have it, my wife and I, are of different minds on the matter. I will usually try anything once. I do shun certain foods, such as almost anything raw. My reason being that when our great, great, great ancestors, discovered fire, their first response was probably along the lines of, ouch that’s hot! However, their second was more than likely to place their raw brachiosaurs thighs over the open flame. Far be it from me to argue with the peoples responsible for bringing us down from the trees. I mean, there must have been a reason that people with brains roughly the size of softballs did this, and it was probably not to insure that the women of the cave could carry on about how they had slaved over this hot fire all day, and for what, not even a trip to the stream. (Because apparently there were self-centered, ungrateful cavemen even back then.)

My lovely wife on the other hand, would prefer to exist solely on prepackaged foods. She has no real desire to know the origins of any of it. Preferring, instead to believe that most foods are picked from magic trees, already packaged and priced, and stored, in some state sized deepfreeze somewhere in northern Canada. I am afraid that if she actually had to kill a chicken to survive, I would soon be searching caves for a new mate. Although respectful of my wife, or W-o-m-e-n-s preferences, I have never quite understood this.

She and now most of our children, have very strict dietary requirements. All seafood is off the table. Wild game would overrun the planet, before they would ever attempt to eat it. And, when faced with any consumables uncertainty they instinctively return to their primary food group, “Ramen Noodle”. In all honesty, at least as far as my wife is concerned, I must admit that I have contributed to this food paranoia. Years ago as newlyweds, my wife, and I were at this fancy black tie affair. At this particular shindig, they were serving this very tasty crab stuffed mushrooms entrée. Being totally impressed, which usually doesn’t take very much? I managed to convince myself that if I could just get her to try it. She would somehow fall in love with it, and finally come to the dark side of crustaceans’ eater.

The presentation was such that I was sure she would not be able to tell that there was actually crabmeat in it. And, since she loved mushrooms, I sauntered confidently back to our table with the bait.

“What’s that?” she asked, innocently enough.

“Oh, nothing,” I said matter-of-factly. (Trying to peak her interest)

“Just some really delicious stuffed mushrooms”.

“Stuffed with what?” She wrinkled her nose.

“Bread and…stuffing, I guess.” (I lied)

“Man are they good. Would you like to try one?”

Now I must qualify this with the fact that back then she was still young and naive enough, that she actually trusted me… sort of.

“There’s nothing in them is there?” She asked.

“No-o…” I said in excited anticipation of finally being able to tell her, I told you so!

Long story short, there were many things lost that night. Some eventually recoverable, while others, well, not so much. And to this day, she will sniff, prod, pry, and peruse, any and all strange foods offered to her, especially if it comes from me.

I on the other hand have always been much more gullible. It was only after my second helping, as an eight-year-old of my beloved mothers special egg mess that she informed me, that the sausage was not actually sausage, but rather...(well you get the point)? Ok, ok, I will tell you. But for those with weak stomachs, please skip to the next paragraph, and for those still with me. (The sausage was actually cow brains! And…no it did not make me any smarter, like she said it would?) In fact, one of my most traumatic memories as a young child was when I finally realized, as I sat eating dinner with my family on my grandfathers Southwestern Michigan farm. Why everyone had been so intent on repeatedly asking me how I liked the pot roast my Grandmother had prepared, all freaking meal long was because that particular roast was all that was left of my pet cow Pontius! A calf I had watched being born, and even frolicked with that very summer. But who had now been reduced to our featured entrée, with all the trimmings! And therein lies the problem. After my initial mortification of being a member of a cannibalistic cabal, the reality was that old Pontius had been pretty darn tasty.

Later in life, this lesson would serve me well. Because while most wild and exotic food usually ends up being bland and nondescript. Some are in fact uniquely delicious, while still others must be appreciated, simply for their shock value. One of the first things my eight-year-old feels inclined to share with any new friend while dining out. Is that her father once ate alligator tail, and she saw it! This revelation will usually be followed by said friends looking around instinctively for their parents, or the exits to insure that there is a clear escape route away from this fiend. I chuckle when I imagine their young minds picturing me thrashing around in some algae infested swamp, in a death roll. My teeth firmly locked on some giant Crocodile Hunter type beast. When in fact it was served in a basket, with french-fries, coleslaw, and a drink. And…it actually tasted a lot like chicken. But then again what do I know I’m just a smuck.