You Gonna Eat That?

Let’s start this post off with a food fight, shall we? We shall.

I don’t like onion rings. I don’t like sweet potato fries. I don’t like cantaloupe. I don’t like poutine. I’ve never had sushi. I’ve never had chocolate milk. I think avocado looks like elephant dung. I think Nutella looks disgusting. And I’ve never had a sip of alcohol.

I should just end this post here and let you guys finish it in the comments section. I’m so tempted.

Nah, I’ll keep going.

The first time I saw an avocado sitting on the counter in the kitchen, I asked why there was elephant dung in the kitchen. Seriously. So that turned me off to it right away.

Then I realized I ate it by accident at a potluck because it was in a salad and that was when I realized I didn’t like it at all.

Please allow me to go on a mini rant about potlucks. Thanks.

Potlucks need to end. I am not interested in everyone bringing the healthiest looking food possible (because they don’t want to admit they eat unhealthy foods), so we can all take small portions of it, only to be starving by the end of it. Stop. It’s madness.

No one wants your veggie platter – that you picked up from the cold freezer in the produce section at the grocery store – to be the star of the show. Take a poll! An anonymous poll. That is not a meal. That is a snack you crunch on while you’re watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy.

And to the people who bring bags of chips to a potluck, what the hell are you doing? Oh, you brought dip? Well that makes it better. Oh wait, IT DOESN’T!

Why are we having baby carrots and sour cream & onion chips? Who’s idea was this?

And then someone has to bring a salad because “these people must not know we eat stuff not grown in a garden”.

And then someone will bring a pot of meatballs for some reason. Hey, I love meatballs. But where is the pasta? Where is the bread to make a meatball sub? Where is the lasagna?

Don’t make me put three small meatballs on a paper plate with mini carrots, salad, and sour cream & onion chips. I’ll do it, but don’t make me.

Oh but everything’s fine – someone will bring a platter of different cheeses with toothpicks in them, and crackers that are laid out so perfectly, you’d think this is a photoshoot for a Ritz commercial.

Then for dessert, we can all indulge in a homemade recipe where, no matter what the item is, we all have to proclaim how good it is exactly 1.3 seconds after putting it in our mouth. That’s protocol. Failure to follow protocol means you’re forced to have another round of baby carrots with meatballs, but there will be no more meatballs, so it’s just baby carrots.

If you host a potluck, or are the one suggesting it, you’re the one responsible for providing the main course. All these items I just named will be acceptable as long as there is a main course.

I don’t care what anyone says. I’m not walking out of there having a pinch from seven side dishes and no real meal. That’s ridiculous.

I could go on, but that’s my rant on potlucks.

Onion rings. What do people see in them?

At my university there was a Harvey’s – for you non-Canadians, it’s a burgers and fries fast food chain. I ordered a burger, fries, and a drink. A classic combo. They told me they ran out of fries and asked if I wanted onion rings.

I knew I didn’t want onion rings, but what was I going to do, just eat the burger? No. I gave in and accepted the onion rings.

It’s important to note, I had had onion rings before this. I knew I didn’t like them. But I was willing to give them another chance.

I ate one and it ruined my whole meal. There was not enough Pepsi in my cup to wash that horrid taste out of my mouth. I ate my burger and didn’t taste it, or the cheese, lettuce, tomato, onions, or mayonnaise, that were in it.

All I tasted was that darn lone wolf of an onion ring.

That was five years ago. Never again. I will not waste my stomach space on such a foul tasting food.

Let’s move on to sweet potato fries.

Again, I was at school. A new cafeteria had just opened up and the place had a rustic vibe to it. I liked it. I ordered a burger and fries. They didn’t have fries and offered me sweet potato fries. I said yes.

It’s important to note, I didn’t know what sweet potato fries were.

When my burger was done, they went to put the fries on my plate and with my poor vision, it looked like they were putting carrots on my plate. What are these orange things they’re giving me?

Then they came to the counter and handed me my meal. They were fries. Orange fries.

I knew I hated them before I even tasted them. Sure enough, I ate a few and they were just as bad as I thought they would be. Not even ketchup could salvage them.

Never again.

Cantaloupe. More like, Cantanope!

The first time I tried cantaloupe, I was around 10-years-old? I was young. My dad gave me a piece and I instantly ran to the garbage to spit it out. The gag reflexes were strong on that one.

A few months ago, I tried a piece of honeydew melon for the first time. I knew it would taste like cantaloupe, but I gave it a chance just in case it didn’t.

It tasted like cantaloupe.

Here comes the gag. And there goes the Paul…to the garbage.

I just can’t do it. Awful taste. And if I have to gag every time I eat it, then I’d rather kiss a toilet seat.

Poutine.

I’m Canadian, so you’d think I’d like poutine. It’s french fries, covered in gravy and cheese.

Listen, I like dipping fries in gravy. Nothing wrong with that. But when you flood them with gravy and throw cheese on top if it, no thanks.

I’ve tried it before. I got through about four fork-fulls before throwing it out. For a Canadian food, it felt very American.

When it comes to sushi, I’ve been told to try it so many times, that I’m now just in a stand-off with it because I don’t want to give in to other people’s commands.

Also, it looks gross. And I say that as someone who enjoys sardines.

Sushi is one of those foods that I know I won’t like.

“Oh but Paul, how will you know for sure if you never try it?”

Stop. I’ve been judging inanimate objects by how they look for my entire life. I’m pretty good at it. If you don’t believe me, just come with me the next time I need to buy clothes. I make the quickest decisions and they’re always right.

There is no, “I don’t know which shirt to pick.” There is no, “Do these pants match?”

I see something and it’s an immediate yes or no. There is no in between.

I’m the same way with food.

Sushi is on the “do not fly” list. Do you understand that analogy? You see, some people put food on their fork and say, “Here comes the airplane” before putting it in their mouth. Sushi is not allowed on the fork, for me.

I say “fork”, because I’ve tried to learn how to use chopsticks and I just can’t figure it out. They also gave me a splinter once, so I still hold that against them. Ha, HOLD. Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?

And don’t tell me to practice with pens. I’m a method actor eater. Who holds two pens in one hand? Not someone about to put sushi in their mouth, I know that much.

Chocolate milk. I have no interest. You could put a million dollars in front of me and say it would be mine if I drank a glass of chocolate milk, and I’d sit there and try to negotiate it down to “a sip of chocolate milk for one million dollars.”

That’s how minuscule my interest is in chocolate milk.

Same goes for alcohol. No interest.

Nutella. Oh God.

Alright, in elementary school this kid would bring a Nutella sandwich to school for lunch. I didn’t know it was Nutella until years later when I put two and two together. I just thought it was chocolate smeared on bread. It looked disgusting. And then he ate it…

He got it all over his mouth, stuck between his teeth, and on his hands.

It was like that kid in Matilda who eats the cake with his hands, but less heroic and a solid 10 on the “Am I Gonna Hurl?” scale.

So that initial image of Nutella has always been stuck in my head, but even if it wasn’t, I prefer peanut butter.

I wouldn’t call myself a picky eater. Not at all. Google says a picky eater is someone who is reluctant to try new foods. I’m not reluctant. I’m defiant. But mainly selective.

Who says I have to eat something because other people eat it?

Am I not allowed to decide what I want to eat? It’s opportunity cost. If I eat one food, there’s less space for the rest.

If I want to eat sushi, I will eat sushi. But I don’t, so I don’t. It’s really as simple as that.

I think I eat a wide variety of foods. It’s not like I’m eating the same three things every day. I would get tired of that.

It’s just that I don’t eat things I don’t like and I don’t care to try things that my eyes tell me I won’t enjoy. That’s all.

I look forward to your comments.

Oh, one last thing before I go.

Brunch is the worst. Fight me.