When I lived in New York City I'd often get invited over for dinner to my friend's apartment. He was studying French and somehow got it into his head that he wanted to cook an authentic meal. What I didn't realize is that it would be harder to get the meal down my esophagus that it would be to cook it.
He really didn't tell me much about the meal before serving it. Certainly during preparation, I was to stay out of the kitchen. So I contented myself with visiting (chattering) with some other friends he had invited over. We were all just having a great old time. We joked, laughed, and otherwise were leading a carefree life.
And then came the dish. It was a white dish with a large cow tongue sitting in the middle. There was a pool of red gravy around the tongue. It resembled a moat around a fortress. It was going to be a challenge to conquer this most difficult meat.
I tried to put WHAT this was out of my mind. It worked until it reached MY tongue. It felt like I was kissing a cow. The rough surface of the top of the tongue scrapped against my taste buds. They were rebelling. Even THEY knew this wasn't right. I began to envy the cow. He or she was long gone and they didn't have to taste my tongue.
I guess in his attempt to disguise what this hunk of meat was, he doused it with hot chile power. While this helped the tongue get into my mouth, the combination of the heat and the thought, induced my gagging reflex. This was embarrassing. I didn't want to offend my friend. I didn't want to hurt my host. But I ended up "coughing" into my napkin, cursing the hot souse. But it wasn't the hot sauce, so much as it was the tongue.
It was by far the most unpleasant meal I've had to endure.
...dave
Miss a meal if you have to, but don't miss a book. -Jim Rohn
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