I have to be quick because my laptop is dying and I want to copy and paste this message to all of my blogs. I will be gone for about a month and a half. So, sadly, I won't be able to post anything during that timespan. I leave tomorrow. BUT! *heroic voice* I'll be back. . . with more eating stories, I'm sure
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
It's . . . orange.
My brother and I went camping with some friends, and I had purposed to be as non-picky as possible. I didn't want to be a burden, so I planned on shutting up and eating . . . whatever.
How pathetic. I failed at the first try. We (er they) had hot dogs for Lunch. I felt like the biggest quitter as I spread peanut butter and jelly on two slices of bread. Bad, bad, bad, Rose. Bad Rose. This was my only free card. Everything else I was going to eat. No exceptions.
I got a little worried when my friend's mom kept saying things like: "I'm making such-and-such. Now, just give it a chance. It's good. It just looks worse than it is." How bad does it look? Everyone kept assuring me it tasted good. Now that I'm thinking back, did I have a terrified look in my eyes or something? Is that why everyone kept telling me how "it isn't as bad as it looks".
My true assurance was that it didn't smell so bad. Smelled kind of good. Like, macaroni and cheese mixed with a spicy Doritos smell. Strange combination, but still smelled good. Which is a godsend. I don't know what I would've done if I didn't like the smell. That's something I can't get past.
She declared dinner was ready with a new flow of reassuring words, "just try it." "Taste a little bit." "Give it a chance." Of course, this only scared me even more. A food that's supposed to be good, shouldn't need so much backup in the advertising department, if you ask me.
I was one of the last to serve myself. I wanted to get somewhat of the same portions as everyone else (food peer pressure, I guess), and I had to see how they were preparing their bowls. First, they'd poor a handful of - go figure - Doritos to fill up the Styrofoam bowl, grab a spoon, and head over to the huge pot. Actually, I think it was a dutch oven.
Slowly, I poured Doritos in my bowl like everyone else, carefully grabbed a spoon, and gently pulled a napkin from a bag. At this point, I was just stalling. My friend, who had already scooped some stuff for herself when I wasn't looking, politely asked if I wanted her to pour me some. I smiled and nodded, "yes, please."
The first thing I noticed was: this stuff is orange. ORANGE, mind you. As in: orange. As in, that not-so-yellow color that some Hummers are painted in. Yeah, that ugly color? This stuff, was orange. And I love the color orange. It's my favorite color. But as a stew-thing?? Not so much.
And not only was it orange. It had little red specks in it, it was thick, and there were brown lumps. This thing could growl at me at any given moment.
As I sat down with my bowl full of orange glop, I took a quick survey of how everyone else was eating theirs. Some were eating it like a nacho type deal, using the Doritos on the bottom to scoop the glop. Some would break up the chips and mix them in with it. I decided to go for both tactics, starting with the nacho-technique. I pinched a clean corner of a chip that was half an inch away from being completely submerged in orange. Some of the stuff was already coating it, so I took a bite. It was warm, thick, and cheesy with a little hint of spice and the chip added a crunch. Not bad . . . I was actually liking this stuff! I polished off that bowl in no time flat, while listening to my friend's mom list off the ingredients. The brown lumps, I found, where ground beef. And somewhere in the stuff was cream of mushroom. Who'da thunk, right? I actually liked this orange stuff.
You know. I was thinking, maybe it wouldn't be so scary if the stuff actually had a name. Like how in "Over the hedge" they name the hedge "Steve" to make it less scary? Maybe that logic would work the same way here. Just thinking out loud.
How pathetic. I failed at the first try. We (er they) had hot dogs for Lunch. I felt like the biggest quitter as I spread peanut butter and jelly on two slices of bread. Bad, bad, bad, Rose. Bad Rose. This was my only free card. Everything else I was going to eat. No exceptions.
I got a little worried when my friend's mom kept saying things like: "I'm making such-and-such. Now, just give it a chance. It's good. It just looks worse than it is." How bad does it look? Everyone kept assuring me it tasted good. Now that I'm thinking back, did I have a terrified look in my eyes or something? Is that why everyone kept telling me how "it isn't as bad as it looks".
My true assurance was that it didn't smell so bad. Smelled kind of good. Like, macaroni and cheese mixed with a spicy Doritos smell. Strange combination, but still smelled good. Which is a godsend. I don't know what I would've done if I didn't like the smell. That's something I can't get past.
She declared dinner was ready with a new flow of reassuring words, "just try it." "Taste a little bit." "Give it a chance." Of course, this only scared me even more. A food that's supposed to be good, shouldn't need so much backup in the advertising department, if you ask me.
I was one of the last to serve myself. I wanted to get somewhat of the same portions as everyone else (food peer pressure, I guess), and I had to see how they were preparing their bowls. First, they'd poor a handful of - go figure - Doritos to fill up the Styrofoam bowl, grab a spoon, and head over to the huge pot. Actually, I think it was a dutch oven.
Slowly, I poured Doritos in my bowl like everyone else, carefully grabbed a spoon, and gently pulled a napkin from a bag. At this point, I was just stalling. My friend, who had already scooped some stuff for herself when I wasn't looking, politely asked if I wanted her to pour me some. I smiled and nodded, "yes, please."
The first thing I noticed was: this stuff is orange. ORANGE, mind you. As in: orange. As in, that not-so-yellow color that some Hummers are painted in. Yeah, that ugly color? This stuff, was orange. And I love the color orange. It's my favorite color. But as a stew-thing?? Not so much.
And not only was it orange. It had little red specks in it, it was thick, and there were brown lumps. This thing could growl at me at any given moment.
As I sat down with my bowl full of orange glop, I took a quick survey of how everyone else was eating theirs. Some were eating it like a nacho type deal, using the Doritos on the bottom to scoop the glop. Some would break up the chips and mix them in with it. I decided to go for both tactics, starting with the nacho-technique. I pinched a clean corner of a chip that was half an inch away from being completely submerged in orange. Some of the stuff was already coating it, so I took a bite. It was warm, thick, and cheesy with a little hint of spice and the chip added a crunch. Not bad . . . I was actually liking this stuff! I polished off that bowl in no time flat, while listening to my friend's mom list off the ingredients. The brown lumps, I found, where ground beef. And somewhere in the stuff was cream of mushroom. Who'da thunk, right? I actually liked this orange stuff.
You know. I was thinking, maybe it wouldn't be so scary if the stuff actually had a name. Like how in "Over the hedge" they name the hedge "Steve" to make it less scary? Maybe that logic would work the same way here. Just thinking out loud.
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