Yes, yes, I realize that I just wrote yesterday. It’s just that last night I realized something about myself that cleared up some confusion, some insidious questions that have been lurking in the back of my mind for years.
You see, I have always considered myself to be an open-minded eater of food. Not picky, am I. However, I have long since realized that there are certain foods of which I have no desire to partake, even foods that I will staunchly refuse to try should the opportunity present itself. I have worried a little over this, thinking that perhaps I am not so “not-picky” as I would like to think. Late last night, however, I had an epiphany that explained my few food phobias, and put my self-doubt to rest.
One food I have no desire to try (but which does not qualify as a food phobia) is frog legs. Now, if face with a platter and enough peer pressure, I have no doubt that I would overcome and at least taste said amphibious appendages. Because while frogs are not appealing to me, with their slimy skin and webbed feet, they are not shudder worthy and therefore, I might be persuaded to partake. Let me reiterate: no desire to. At all.
Moving right along to shudder worthy, let’s talk snails. Otherwise, and more aptly titled slugs. I cannot foresee the combination of circumstances that would ever induce me to eat escargot. I know it’s incredibly uncouth of me, but when I think of actually eating a creature which resembles a big old hunk of phlegm more than an animal, and which leaves a trail of slime wherever it may roam–well, suffice it to say my insides revolt. French delicacy notwithstanding, I doubt I could quite get the mucus-y original out of my head to sufficiently overcome my squeamishness. But even escargot, as little as it appeals to me, is not where I intend to firmly and irrevocably draw the line.
No, my friends. Slimy slugs, while disgusting, do not yet fill me with enough horror to say that I would never eat them. For that, we must descend into the terrifying depths, the deep sea world which in and of itself is a phobia of mine. Lurking in the shadows we find a creature more horrifying and revolting than any other of God’s ingenious creations (which is saying something, because there are a lot of weird animals out there). That nightmare of the deep, that monstrosity of international cuisine: the octopus. No kidding, the octopus is without question the abomination of animal life in my book. Calamari forsooth! Be-tentacled, bulbous, and armed with an ink sac to top off the revulsion, this fiendish beast shall never cross my lips, nor (heaven forbid!) shall I ever meet one in person. From its beaked maw right down to the suction cups on its tentacles, there is no element of this cephalopod that does not fill me with loathing.
What was the epiphany, you may ask? Well, from the three examples listed above, it’s obvious that the intensity of my food phobias is more or less directly proportionate to the level of distaste (or horror) I feel for the animal itself while it is alive. I have no affection for frogs, but the lack of revulsion I feel for them might enable me to eat frogs legs should the occasion inescapably arise. But because of my deep seated, long lived hatred of octopi, I will by any means necessary avoid eating calamari or any other dish with this animal in the ingredients.
See? I’m not picky. I just hate cephalopods!