Normally I don't like mushrooms, but I was hungry at the office today. Sarah R-T had talked about making stuffed mushrooms when she stayed with me on Saturday. Kim-Chi had made some recently. Though I couldn't recall the last time I'd eaten a stuffed mushroom, but I was inspired. The recipe I found online looked delicious.
I realized today that I can't cook when I'm hungry. I bought a package of fresh fried oysters ("Imagine the po'boys these would make," Kim said) and ate them all before I got the energy to get off my couch and start chopping onions and the like. I put them in the oven for about ten minutes before I had to shut everything off and go to taiko. When I returned, I entered a home filled with the savory aroma of cream cheese, mushrooms, Italian spices, and Parmesan. I was so excited when I finally popped one of the mushrooms in my mouth. It was like eating a piece of heaven, at least it was until I noticed something rubbery against my teeth.
It was then that I remembered—it's not the taste of mushrooms that I hate, it's the texture. That slimy, uncomfortable chewiness, the way it sounds against my teeth, I hate it all. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it feels like I'm masticating the sound of a squeegee on a window. So there I stood in my kitchen, senses of taste and smell overcome with one of the most delectable things I've ever eaten, and simultaneously ready to gag at the slug-like texture of cooked mushroom sliding over my tongue.
Swoon in delight or vomit? It's the most complicated bundle of emotions I've ever had about food.
And, son of a ponce, that has to be my lunch tomorrow.