Fridays are a freakin' pain.
What are they called... Lenten Fridays? Something like that.
I don't normally crave meat... but like clockwork, every Lent, when it comes to Fridays, I'll spend the day eyeing steak and all that bloody mess.
However, counting today, there are officially TWO more Fridays where I have to put up with this. TWO!
It couldn't come sooner.
I've spent the last few Fridays holding my breath as I force myself to eat shrimp on Fridays (that vile garbage. PUKE!). No matter how hard I try, or how I prepare the shrimp (well, I know I can muster the courage to eat them in sushi, but they have to be done in tempura batter), the consistency of the shrimp is just too disgusting for my tongue to tolerate.
Last week, I was feeling brave.
Mom prepares amazing ceviche, from what I hear. I've never tasted it, but every single friend or family member who has tasted it has fallen in love with it. Salvadorans, Filipinos, white (what else can I call them?), they taste the ceviche and they return for THIRDS. One Filipino friend ate a freaking GALLON of it. Also, ever since Rafa was in the army, when he comes home for breaks, his one request is always ceviche... and Rafa's a goat when it comes to eating: he inhales anything. So to request ceviche... I guess it must be good... right?
So, last Friday I was like
Ok, I can handle this... if so many people make such a big deal about my mother's ceviche... I kind of have to try it. All these people can't be wrong.
I had Mom make me some ceviche Thursday night, so it could be ready for Friday lunch time.
I was actually giddy when it was time for bed.
Ce-vi-che! Ce-vi-che!
Friday afternoon, when it was finally time to eat, I pulled out the ceviche, and took my first bite.
FUCK. THAT. SHIT.
Sister: So... ?
Me: It looks like brains... and it feels like wet boogers... this is... torture.
Sister: Well fuck you too!
Sadly, I proved I will NEVER like ceviche. EVER.
I was nice and finished my little bowl Mom had so kindly prepared for me... then I declared myself an eternal enemy of ceviche.
Sorry, Mom.
So... that was a failed experiment (I even tried it after pretty much starving myself. When in those conditions, I can eat a rock and it'll taste glorious to me. NOT ceviche).
Now I limit myself to eating tuna straight out of the can on Fridays. I call it "Hobo Friday."
April 29, I'm going to gorge on filet mignon and skirt stake. Be ready!
Fuck seafood (except salmon and sushi)!
(yeah, I'm cussing... but I'm just so passionate in my hatred for that stupid food group, I can't help myself. Plus, I only have a little over a week of censoring myself. SO close!)
What are they called... Lenten Fridays? Something like that.
I don't normally crave meat... but like clockwork, every Lent, when it comes to Fridays, I'll spend the day eyeing steak and all that bloody mess.
However, counting today, there are officially TWO more Fridays where I have to put up with this. TWO!
It couldn't come sooner.
I've spent the last few Fridays holding my breath as I force myself to eat shrimp on Fridays (that vile garbage. PUKE!). No matter how hard I try, or how I prepare the shrimp (well, I know I can muster the courage to eat them in sushi, but they have to be done in tempura batter), the consistency of the shrimp is just too disgusting for my tongue to tolerate.
Last week, I was feeling brave.
Mom prepares amazing ceviche, from what I hear. I've never tasted it, but every single friend or family member who has tasted it has fallen in love with it. Salvadorans, Filipinos, white (what else can I call them?), they taste the ceviche and they return for THIRDS. One Filipino friend ate a freaking GALLON of it. Also, ever since Rafa was in the army, when he comes home for breaks, his one request is always ceviche... and Rafa's a goat when it comes to eating: he inhales anything. So to request ceviche... I guess it must be good... right?
So, last Friday I was like
Ok, I can handle this... if so many people make such a big deal about my mother's ceviche... I kind of have to try it. All these people can't be wrong.
I had Mom make me some ceviche Thursday night, so it could be ready for Friday lunch time.
I was actually giddy when it was time for bed.
Ce-vi-che! Ce-vi-che!
Friday afternoon, when it was finally time to eat, I pulled out the ceviche, and took my first bite.
FUCK. THAT. SHIT.
Sister: So... ?
Me: It looks like brains... and it feels like wet boogers... this is... torture.
Sister: Well fuck you too!
Sadly, I proved I will NEVER like ceviche. EVER.
I was nice and finished my little bowl Mom had so kindly prepared for me... then I declared myself an eternal enemy of ceviche.
Sorry, Mom.
So... that was a failed experiment (I even tried it after pretty much starving myself. When in those conditions, I can eat a rock and it'll taste glorious to me. NOT ceviche).
Now I limit myself to eating tuna straight out of the can on Fridays. I call it "Hobo Friday."
April 29, I'm going to gorge on filet mignon and skirt stake. Be ready!
Fuck seafood (except salmon and sushi)!
(yeah, I'm cussing... but I'm just so passionate in my hatred for that stupid food group, I can't help myself. Plus, I only have a little over a week of censoring myself. SO close!)
2 comments:
You gotta invite my dad over for ceviche, my mom hates the stuff and won't make it but my dad loves it.
Duly noted! I didn't know your pops was into that... but being that he and Mom are so alike, I should have known better.
Next time there's ceviche around, I'll let y'all know :)
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