I find stuff in my food all the time.
I used to think I was cursed in some way, but then I realized that I am the god of foreign-matter-in-food. Material that should not appear in a served meal follows me everywhere in order to laud, praise, worship, and generally find a way to become one with me by attempting to find its way into my mouth. Fortunately one of my god-powers is that I can detect things that don’t belong in my mouth with the efficiency of an assembly line owned by a company that wants to move their operations to Mexico. The smallest hint of any accidental content sets off an alarm I can’t ignore. I’m working on spotting things before I ingest them and I occasionally succeed. If you’ve been to more than a few meals with me, you’ve seen it happen. Others of you will have to wait for your opportunity.
If there is a cherry-pit in the cherry pie, it will show up in my piece. I once found an egg-shell the size of a half-dollar sitting on top of an omelet. It wasn’t cooked-in or anything, just sitting there on top when it arrived from the kitchen.
Salad poses a particular problem, because it’s often filled with a variety of things and textures. Several years ago at an Applebe’s I found most of a ladybug in my salad. Not a whole ladybug mind you, but most of one. I had a nice healthy bite of lettuce perched on the end of my fork as I talked with my friends around the table. I tend to talk with my hands, and the fork looked like an orchestra conductor’s baton, keeping the conversation’s tempo. Finally, I moved the bite toward my mouth. There it was. I sent the salad back and had a burger instead.
Once, on a date, in fact I think it was a first-date, I bit into a piece of glass concealed in the fried rice at a Chinese restaurant. I’m pretty sure it was a bead from a necklace or something, but I bit it right in half between two molars. Getting it out required an oral lavage courtesy of the tall glass of water that came with dinner. I managed to extricate it without injury.
Friday night I had a cup of white chicken chili at a barbecue joint in Muskegon – Brutus’ Barbecue. Part-way through it, I saw something odd. It was kind of grayish-greenish-bluish. It was lumpy. There were multiple incidents of it. I asked my server to see if she could figure it out. My friend Steve thought it looked like a few puddles of pneumonia-induced lung-butter. It turned out to be a few dollops of bleu cheese dressing. Well, that’s what the restaurant said it was. I think I won’t go back there again.
Et tu Brute?
maybe it’s just me…