where taste buds come to die…

I’m not much of a cook. I mean, I can follow a recipe sure, but for some reason that followed recipe never seems to look like the photo, which doesn’t bother me so much because most photo’s of food are edited to look a certain way in order to tantalize our taste buds. It’s the taste that matters, and well, it never has much of that either, in fact it always tastes the exact opposite of what I’d imagine it to taste like.  I can fry up an egg just fine, however even my fried eggs come out a bit too crispy and I’m almost positive eggs aren’t suppose to be crispy or dark around the edges.  You need a knife to get through my eggs…the side of the fork just doesn’t cut it (no pun intended, but in this moment it is much appreciated).
One of my fondest food memories as a child, is my mom’s steak. No one fries up a steak like that chick. I remember sitting at the dinner table with a napkin tied around my neck, and my hands holding a knife and fork with my bare fists, salivating, ready to attack the steak as if I were an animal in the wild ready to hunt down and kill my prey. The moment she would place the plate of steak in front of me, my mouth was preparing itself for the flavour explosion that was about to occur. My irises would transform into little cartoon steaks, tiny steaks with feet would run a circle around my head, and I could feel the buds inside my mouth filling up and bursting with flavourful wonderfulness. This was all before I even took my first bite. The smell of the steak itself had me in its clutches, and when I took a bite, everything lived up to the expectation I had. The world was good.
I don’t eat steak too often these days because I live on my own, and I pay way too much money for rent, steak is not a luxury I can afford at the moment. However, I recently had a craving, and decided to splurge. I called up my mother, asked her exactly how she made it, and everything was working out beautifully, even the aroma was the same. I was so excited, that my mouth began doing the same things it did when I was a child, I couldn’t believe it! I even lit candles for the occasion. I sat down, and cut my first bite. Placed it ever so gently in my mouth, and waiting for the explosion to begin. I kept chewing, anticipating my explosive state. I chewed it 56 times, I counted. Nothing happened. In fact, instead of it tasting awesome and amazing, I got the exact opposite. The reason I chewed that piece of meat 56 times, was because the first portion was denial, and the second portion was my body refusing to let me swallow that atrocity. As much as I tried to, I eventually had to spit it out, or I’d still be chewing it to this very day.
The next day I went out and bought a slow cooker. All I have to say about that, is what a crock of shit (hah another pun not intended, but much appreciated!). Let’s just throw in whatever we can find, let it sit in there for 12 hours, so the shitty taste has time to ferment and you can really let the shittyness soak into everything. I’m convinced that the reason it takes 12 hours (or sometimes more) to cook something, is because they are hoping that you will go on some sort of hunger strike, so that when the food is finally ready for consumption you’ll be so hungry that you might not care that it tastes so shitty because you’ll eat anything at that point. 
I have to go, I’m tired, and starving.

shitty kitchen

Advertisements

One Response to “where taste buds come to die…”

  1. I m imagining the whole process! Interestingly written!!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: