I Don’t Like Mushrooms

Most people classify me as a “picky eater” but I deny it. I like what I like and it’s as simple as that. I’ll try something new here and there which clearly wouldn’t make me a picky eater. Picky eaters don’t expand their pallets. My pallet just happens to have the elementary taste buds of a five year old. If the place doesn’t have chicken fingers, or chicken wings, or some grilled cheese to eat, chances are I won’t like it.

Maybe that’s why people call me a picky eater. I don’t like cream cheese, sour cream, mayonnaise, I’m not a fan of eggs but I also haven’t tried them in quite some time, and I despise mushrooms. I hate mushrooms so much that anyone and everyone that knows me leaves them out of every receipt if they know I’m coming over to eat.

I hate mushrooms. Don’t ask me why just know… I just hate mushrooms. All of a sudden the people closest to me, the people I’ve been trusting the most, have been out to get me to eat mushrooms. I don’t know where they talked about this, or who came up with this diabolical plan but I hate it.

I hate mushrooms and they all know it. One night a friend of mine made this prestigious soup of hers, mixed with all these healthy vegetables that I consistently neglect in my typical diet for dinner that night. There I was with one heaping spoonful of her soup on it’s way to my mouth when I noticed this crisp, burnt up, blackened mushroom on the pinnacle of the soup mountain on my spoon.

I quickly pulled my head back and dumped my first spoonful back into my bowl. I asked her in disappointment, “Did you put mushrooms in this?” She was laughing while she said yes saying, “I needed to add them for the flavor just leave them behind.” I had to spend the entirety of dinner examining each and every scoop of soup I had before I let it enter my mouth to make sure there weren’t any mushrooms hiding in the spoon. It was a process to avoid the mushrooms but I did it. I had to, I hate mushrooms.

The worst part about the whole thing was that the soup was that it was mouthwatering. I was too worried about accidentally slurping up a mushroom, I didn’t even bother to sip the broth when I was done, but the soup was so good I went back for a second and third plate and dumped all the mushrooms left over in my bowl in the trash. That was a friend I trusted. Someone that knew I hated mushrooms and still fed them to me knowingly. I was disappointed in them but was more disappointed when my brother did it.

He cooked this incredible ramen dish and when we sat down to start eating I proceeded to tell him how my friend tried to sneak mushrooms in my food on me the other night. Four bites later into the ramen he made I saw a mushroom again at the pinnacle of my fork, heading toward my mouth. Immediately I called him out for such foul play and all he reopened with was, “I was gonna tell you they were in there but then you told that story so I figured you’d figure it out… or eat them by accident.”

Two of the people I’ve come to trust the most in my life have let me down. They tried to poison me with food they knew I didn’t like and I don’t think I could ever trust a meal from them again. Don’t get me wrong, what they cheffed up was delicious, the mushrooms may have been a nice touch to the flavor, but it’s a slippery slope. If I’m content with mushrooms in my food, what are they going to try to slip down my throat and into my stomach next.

I like what I like and from now on I will be inspecting every forkful, every spoonful, and every sip of everything they cook before I devour it. I see the game they’re playing and I won’t let them pull a fast one on me. I’m not a picky eater, I just like what I like and I can tell you for sure it’s not mushrooms.

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