When I was about ten years old, I was the pickiest eater on the planet. Really – if it wasn’t straight out of a Chef Boyardee can, I wouldn’t touch it. Every time I would go to Mexico with my family (all of whom are seafood eaters except my mother), I brought my own packets of Ramen noodles just in case there was the possibility of being caught at a seafood restaurant with no other option than to digest something that was swimming 60 minutes prior.
My brothers always made fun of me for this irrational fear of seafood, and one day, when I let my guard down, my oldest brother Aaron tapped me on the shoulder and said “Hey, Jessie!”
Unsuspecting little me quickly turned around, although in hindsight it feels like it all happened in slow motion. “Whaaa..?”
Mid-word, my brother, as accurately as humanly possible, tossed a piece of lobster into my mouth. I immediately spit it out and began to bawl and scream in the middle of this Mexican seafood restaurant. Ever since that moment, I have not given lobster another chance – until last night.
Just to clarify, I have grown out of my fear of seafood. I love sushi more than anything on this planet and grilled shrimp is something I will never turn down. However, lobster will never have a safe place in my life. Much like the time that my brothers tried to teach my labrador puppy how to swim by just throwing him into our pool…he never swam again. A black lab that doesn’t swim because he was forced to metaphorically eat the lobster before he was ready. It is a sad state of affairs for both myself and my old dog.
Here are some pictures of my second attempt at eating lobster. Now that I have given it two fair chances, I think it is safe to say that I gave it a proper trial.