For a few years of my childhood, I refused to eat anything white or yellow. No dairy, no bananas, not even marshmallows. Green foods weren’t high on my list either. Most foods made me uneasy unless they tasted like chocolate. In the face of my pickiness, my parents did what any loving parents would – they made me sit at the dinner table until I fell asleep in my escarole.
Eventually, the pendulum swung back so far that I eat just about everything with a vengeance. If only I could return to the days when I thought cheese was evil and I had 0% body fat.
Indian cuisine is one of the few things I don’t eat. I tried it once in my twenties, friends guiding me through the unfamiliar menu. It’s possible that too much grain alcohol in college had killed their taste buds so they didn’t feel the fire I tasted for days. That or they thought it was funny to see me suffer. Either way, it didn’t go well.
So trying Indian food a second time this week probably counts as a microbravery. I went with a couple of good friends, one of whom is a regular at our local Indian restaurant. Eating several unfamiliar (even to the regular) dishes maybe counts as another one.
I was disappointed. Not by the food. The food was good. I would go back. But nothing funny or interesting happened, so I have no story to tell you.
Moral of the story: finding something interesting to blog about and having an enjoyable day are two goals often at odds with one another.