I grew up in Idaho. You know, meat and patata's* land. A normal meal at the Easterday home was meat, and well...potatos. If we ate fish, it was normally of the breaded variety.
Then I grew up and married a Chinese guy. What would have once had my stomach churning is now, strangely enough, normal. Pork butt with the butt still attached (hair and all)? No problem! Watching my father in law suck on fish head? Doesn't bother me. Pig snout? Chicken feet? Fried worms? Congealed chicken blood? Bring it on.**
When we went out to a really nice dinner with Herman's family our last night in Montreal, I was doing great. We had amazing Peking Duck. Incredible beef and vegetables. Yummy soup and lettuce wraps. So what made me completely lose my appetite?
Fried frog legs.
I know, I know...it's really not that big of a deal. Lots of people right here in the states eat fried frog legs.
But you see, I hate frogs. Hate them. When my husband and I were dating I told him there were two ways to ensure a swift end to our dating relationship: one, to sing to me in public. Two, to tease me about frogs. I'm pretty tough, I was raised on a farm, I've seen lots of gross things, but frogs...I can't handle frogs***.
I think it stems from one incident when I was three years old. I was putting on some irrigating boots so I could go irrigating with my dad. I slipped my (very bare) foot in one, and smashed a frog (with said very bare foot). They've plagued me ever since. I swear they follow me. It's like some sort of Hitchcockian horror film.
That's it. Fried frog legs. I'm a wimp.
Oh yeah, and we got our maple syrup. That's right people!
*"Potatos" to the uniniated city people.
**Mind you, I never actually eat this stuff. I've just gotten immune to other people eating it around me.
***And I might be slightly crazy for admitting this on the internet.