Thursday, June 25

Put it on a sandwich, dammit

You know when you are cognizant of a particular issue, preference or aversion for quite some time, but then something happens, and you're forced to face that particular thing, and you realize that it really is a deep-seeded phobia, pet peeve or creepiness?
Today, I discovered how deeply that random hitch runs through my psychological get-along.
Facts: I've never been one to eat plain, naked deli meat. If we're at a deli, and the person manning the slicer offers a slice of meat to taste, I always decline. It grosses me out, this flavor of raw, thin meat. I don't like the texture, either. I've never been able to eat it straight off a deli platter. If it's deli meat, it belongs on a sandwich. Nowhere else. I can't eat it plain, and always manage to avoid watching anyone else eat it, too.
I'm super particular about the volume of chicken salad on my sandwiches in any given bite. I always redistribute the chicken salad over the bread, and remove any excess. There is such a thing as too much chicken salad on a sandwich. If I liked egg salad, I suspect I would feel the exact same about it.
My weird nightmare became a reality today when, after making chicken salad from scratch, Brian asked me to taste it fresh from the bowl. I went directly to the counter to get a Hawaiian role to taste it on. He was all, "No, just taste it. You need to know how it tastes without the sweet flavor of the roll." I'm like, "Oh no, you don't understand. I need the roll." My reaction elicited a mild snarl, but I stuck to my guns, and used the roll. The chicken salad was good, but needed more work.
He messed around with it some more, and about 20 minutes later, he asked me back into the kitchen. Once in there, I was presented with a spoon of chicken salad, and asked to "just eat it, okay? Jeez. It's just chicken salad." I capitulated, and ate it, because how bad could it be, right?
I have to tell you, a mouthful of just chicken salad, not totally refrigerated because it had just been made, seriously grossed me out. I barely was able to get it down. It was in that moment, that one moment when I truly wondered if I would be able to swallow this chicken salad, when I realized that I have a real issue with this. And all I could think about is how chicken salad belongs on a sandwich. How deli meat belongs on a sandwich. And how, now that I understood how deep my aversion ran, I would never let that happen again.

No comments: