4 bites in 22 minutes

It’s not just that I’m a picky eater.  I have legitimate problems with my stomach.  When I did an allergy test I had so many bumps the woman who had administered it just shook her head and told me she wasn’t sure what I was going to eat.

There was no single defining moment where I became a picky eater, but I can remember being stuck at the dinner table long after everyone else had finished.  My dinner was cold, making a bad situation even worse.  Every few minutes I would call back to either my mom or my dad and ask the same question: Had I finished enough yet so that I could leave the table?

Waking up on Saturday morning, my mom was already making a pie.  Around lunchtime she finished.

I saw the thing after it had been cut open.  It looked like a dissected torso.  Most of it was solid and the outside cover looked like pale flesh, and gushing out of the open end was some kind of liquid, like blood from a fresh wound.

I kept putting it off until around 8:17 on Sunday evening.  I wasn’t sure what the proper utensil was since I had never tried pie before so I decided to use a spoon.  Cake is eaten with a spoon and pie is like cake so a spoon must have been the right choice.

Up close I could see the liquid unsettling itself along the outer edges.  The spoon fell out of my hand as the strength left my fingers.  Do I really have to do this? I thought.  How much of it do I have to eat before I can leave the table?

I took a sip of water for courage.  I dug in with my spoon.  I couldn’t help but stare at it in the spoon before I took another sip of water.  I look away.  I start laughing.  It starts to dawn on me.  I’ve done it.  I’ve actually managed to recreate the experience of being a child because that’s exactly how I feel.  I feel like an 8 year old kid staring at a cold plate of macaroni covered in tomato juice. 

I know it’s going to be cold.  The pie has been in the fridge for over a day now.  I take one last sip of water before I take the plunge.

YYYYYUUUUUUUUKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That was so disgusting!

I spit my first bite out into the garbage.

The question comes back.  Do I really have to do this?  My mom tells me just to throw it out from the next room.  The tase left in my mouth is kind of sweet and not disgusting.  It was just something in the texture/taste of the filling, the apple part that just disgusted me so much.  The challenge now becomes clear.   

How much of this pie can I force into my stomach?

I’ve never been more proud of myself in my life.  I did it!!!  I managed to swallow my first bite.  Dare I go for two?  (I think using the spoon reminds me of taking medicine for a cold as a kid, or being fed as a baby)

I press down hard with the spoon to pry open a large piece.  Chunks of apple ooze out of the other openings.  It’s just the part inside that makes me so disgusted.  They look like guts.  I think people who like apple pies must like blood or be murderers.  I’ve never been so disgusted in my entire life.  I can do this. 

In order to have courage, you must first be afraid.

And I am afraid.

There I go.  2 bites swallowed.  I think I’ll try for 4 more and that should be good enough.

I have a brilliant idea.  I get a fork and press it into a piece.  This way I don’t have to chew the pie in my mouth. 

The third bite goes down easy.  Wow.  This is making that perogie thing look easy.

I’m about to cheat on my 4^th bite and just eat crust when I change my mind.  I drag over some of the wet filling and as I do I drop my spoon.  I also let go of my fork. 

I mush a pile of apple guts and cry as I do.  (I just notice the clock.  When I started it was 8:17.  It is now 8:37.  In all that time I was only able to swallow 4 bites of pie.  One more and I’m finished.)

O.K. 

I did it. 

With that awful after taste still lingering in my mouth I can proudly announce that I have now tried apple pie and so when I say that I don’t like it and that it really sucks, I can honestly say it now having tried it.

I will now go to the other room and try to assure my mom that it was pie in general that I did not like and not just her pie. (although at this point I’m sure my mom knows I can’t stand her cooking)

I explain it to my mom the way I explained it to the Koreans: it’s not just your food I don’t like and am picky about, it’s all food.

P.S. My mom seemed to be a little bit hurt and got on the defensive about her home made pie.  She said that she still liked it and that it was good and that if anyone wanted to try it she would love to give them a piece.