I like food.  I especially like tasty food.  Nothing earth shattering there, but as I was reminiscing about meals the other night (while dining at a lovely place called La Mezzaluna Café), I realized I’ve had some odd food-related journeys.

Liver:  As a young lad, I was apparently in love with the stuff.  I didn’t enjoy it with a nice Chianti mind you, but didn’t seem to mind consuming the fleshy meat of an organ whose main purpose is to detoxify the blood stream of its host.  Don’t really touch this entrée anymore though.

Cheesecake:  Until I was about 16 years old, I operated under the misconception that cheesecake was somehow made out of a bitter, soft cheese.  My mind couldn’t get around the idea of “cheese” and “cake” in the same sentence, let alone the same word.  Then one day at the Olive Garden with my folks, my mother ordered a slice and I decided to brave it.  I instantly regretted missing out on this decadent treat for the previous 16 years—yes, if I could, I would’ve eaten it as a baby (it’s mushy enough!).

Cognac: I’ve never been a big drinker.  Beer smells like urine to me, and wine tastes bitter like vinegar.  When I did drink, it was of the mixed variety, usually along the lines of rum and coke.  I had a few (literally) in high school but then decided it was a gateway substance to other, harder drugs (as several of my friends discovered the hard way).  I pretty much gave it up in its entirety and didn’t feel any worse off for it.  Then one day my brother was bartending at a yacht club and he told us about Louis XIII.  Back then (many moons ago), it was $95 a shot.  The empty bottle alone was $450 because it was made out of some crystal mined on Uranus.  Anyhow, I decided I might as well try it because I’d never get the chance again (I sure as hell wouldn’t be putting up a Franklin for 1.5 ounces of any kind of liquid).  It was damn smooth and left a warm, tingling feeling throughout my torso.  My dad (a much more refined connoisseur of liquor than I), claimed that he had $20/shot cognac and there’s no way Louis XIII could be that much better.  He tried it and uttered “I was wrong.”  I think that’s the only time I’ve heard my father admit that…

Pistachios:  I love nuts (no sniggering please).  Just about any nut I’ll eat (except Brazilian, those are too bitter).  But for some reason, I never tried pistachios.  Maybe it was because there was too much work involved (shelling).  Maybe it was their color (the same color used for alien bugs in just about any science fiction movie).  Until last year, I had no idea that I was missing out on a wonderful, albeit unfortunately-hued, gem of the nut family.  As it turns out, the shelling actually slows my consumption down (somewhat), so it makes a good late night snack.


Do you have any strange food stories?