I strongly dislike just about all ethnic foods. That’s a very close-minded comment, I know. Matt on the other hand only dislikes two things. Raw squash and my homemade frosting. I always feel bad that my non-adventurous pallet inhibits Matt’s eating. So, when my sister Ashleigh wanted to take my dad to Indian food for his birthday, I quickly pushed Matt onto them. Then somehow I got involved too. And thus, we began “dinner group.”
“Dinner group” is great because my brother in law Ansen and my mother dislike ethnic food more than me so telling them we’re going out to Indian food or something of the like suddenly creates a willing babysitter and no hard feelings that we’re eating without them.
Ever since going to Thailand last year I have come leaps and bounds in my eating and I was so proud of myself for agreeing to go to the Indian Star. I was even more proud when I ate and actually somewhat enjoyed curry.
On our drive home I kept on forcing compliments out of Matt and my dad wanting credit for what a champ I was, eating curry and all. Then that somehow transitioned into a conversation where Matt and my dad competed with the worst things they’ve ever eaten. After hearing multiple terms like pigs spinal column, road kill, rocky mountain oysters, maggots, chicken feet, cow’s tongue, etc. I decided maybe I wasn’t such a hero for eating curry.
Next up, Egyptian food. Or maybe Greek.
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