The person in charge of wiring brains the day I was put together was clearly an apprentice. I have faulty connections, no doubt about it. On my way to work at 6:30 this Monday morning, I decided to leave the radio off and have some quiet time. Nothing doing. My whacked out brain refuses to wind down. Therefore, I’m on my 30 minute drive wondering why it is that people who love seafood are so hell bent on converting us non-seafoodies.
“What?! You don’t like shrimp? What kind did you try? Was it cooked or raw? North Atlantic? South Atlantic? Pacific? Oh, it just couldn’t have been prepared properly.”
The gross kind. That’s the kind I had. The kind that looks exactly like it should be swimming around.
“But you eat steak?”
Yes, but I don’t plop a cow on my plate and start chowing down.
“What about salmon? You MUST like salmon – it doesn’t have that “fishy” taste.”
Look, it’s really not the fishy “taste” that gets me…it’s the presentation, the fact that the scales are still on it, and sometimes even the damned HEAD! Yes, I eat steak, and I LOVE every bite; but it doesn’t have fur on it and it’s not staring me down like I’m a heartless bitch for eating it.
“Lobster! You’ve GOT to try lobster.”
No, not really. I did a stint at McDonald’s back it the “McLobster” days. I was in charge, sometimes, of breaking open the claws and extracting the meat to go into the sandwich. Lobster claw meat has the consistency of a rather large wart I dissected from my thumb in 7th grade. At any point did I consider eating that wart? Absolutely not. Not even if I’d accidentally spilled butter garlic sauce on it.
“You don’t like king crab legs? Wow, you’re a cheap date.”
I don’t like eating anything that requires tools. By the way, Mister, “inexpensive” and “cheap” are two different words…use ‘em properly or this’ll be a SHORT date.
Of course, I could go on and on about what I’m apparently missing out on with paella, jambalaya, sushi, and escargot. I could tell you that my sex life will suffer if I don’t acquire a taste for oysters. I could tell you how many people I’ll offend if I show up at an event and avoid the shrimp cocktail. I’ll take my chances. In the end, I think seafood is laced with some kind of “we drank the Kool -Aid” drug, which turns those who try it into an unspoken cult. Less organized than Jehovah’s Witnesses and with no pamphlets – but give it time.