Assignment: Write about something that is unique to your story. It could be a physical feature or a life experience. You could write about something that happened when you were growing up that impacted your life forever. You could write about your daily struggle to get your toddler to potty train and how you are at your wit’s end…or maybe that’s just me. Also, don’t just re-work some post from the past. Write a new one…if there’s any place to be vulnerable, it’s here.
My pickiness with food is based on a few senses: aroma, texture, flavour and visual appeal. I have only one mouth, one tongue, one stomach. Yet I have two eyes, two hands and two nose holes. I must guard them ever so carefully. One experience that helped to mold my culinary sense happened the very first time I tasted cheesecake. It was also the very last time I tasted cheesecake. I was about 7 years old, attending a summertime birthday party for a young child. The customary cake was standard grocery store bakery fare; a white sheet, layered with sweet icing and sugary, food-coloured flowers. One piece of cake is never enough at that age. I went back and asked the grownups for more, please. The cake was all gone, but they had cheesecake left. Inwardly, I questioned the logic in combining cheese and cake together. However, I let my hunger-masked greed cloud my good judgment. I went downstairs and took a bite–and spit it right out! All I could taste and smell was cheese. Ewww! I was not a cheese fan to begin with. I expected more sugary flavours, not this insult to my senses. I quickly ran to return the offender to the adults. They had fun laughing at my expense. But I knew that I would never fall for this ploy again.
Over the years, I’ve refused every bit of cheesecake possible. I have tasted and baked a cheese-less “cheesecake”—that’s the only thing I’d eat; an imitation. It had a wee hint of a cheesy taste, but I was willing to try it because I knew it did not contain even one crumb of cheese. People still think I’m crazy for refusing this dessert that some refer to as a delight. They’re entitled to their perspective, just as I’m entitled to mine.