PB Sans J

Looking at my toast yesterday morning, I questioned my dislike of jelly.  My palate has conversed with my brain, which convinced my tongue that there are plenty of other things to try out there.  The condiments–jelly and jam–are aesthetically displeasing to me.  They don’t smell right.  They don’t taste right.  Varieties have been tried, so my disapproval is justified.  It’s not as if I am going off the notion or thought that jellies and jams will simply be disliked.  These fruit messes just seem to coagulate like vomit on my toast, ruining my peanut butter.

There were times where I disliked the majority of fruit:  cherries, plums, pears, pineapple, blackberries, strawberries, and raspberries.  I’ve gone through–and still do–phases with bananas.  My picky attitude towards food expanded until the cherry was given a second try.  It was thoroughly enjoyed, and the only bad taste in my mouth was regret of my being so stupid all those years.  Now, I attempt everything.

The simple things were what bothered me, and those that I can now tolerate are:  various cheeses, mustard, mayo (one quick swipe), asparagus (depending how it’s prepared), sour cream (one very, very small dollop–ugh, I really dislike the word dollop… it falls into the same category as moist, succulent, plush, and premium), and butter (another very, very small amount).  I’m stepping in the right direction, which is better than nothing, and now people cannot give me too much hell about eating dry sandwiches.  My boss, while working at the bottle redemption center, would always give me shit:  “Another dry sandwich?”  “Don’t worry about me taking your lunch, your sandwich is probably too dry.”  “Just turkey? One slice of cheese? That’s all?  What the hell is wrong with you?”

A lot.

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My palate does not tolerate yogurt.  However, I had a dream last night I was downing Greek yogurt, and I was enjoying every spoonful of the stuff; multiple containers were consumed.  This probably goes along with the quesadilla from lunch; it was delicious, but there was a flavor that seemed unappealing to me.  Opening the Greek quesadilla up, I realized there were olives.

Obviously–it’s a fucking Greek quesadilla.

Three of the four sections were consumed before this notion was realized.  I survived, but I threw in as much humus as I could to offset the taste.  Now, Greece is on my Top Three places to visit, but I am going to feel like an ass when I ask restaurants to hold the olives.  I do olive oil.  What the heck is wrong with me?

The point of all of this:

You don’t know anything until you try something.  Whether you fail or you succeed, whether you enjoy it or you find it arduous and not beneficial, whether it’s delicious or it leaves a bad taste in your mouth–at least you tried.  There was an attempt, which yielded a result.  You’ve learned something.  Even this experience wasn’t enjoyable, you’ve plugged through it to the last bite.  When you find yourself in a similar situation, you can avoid it (which will not benefit you), or you can work around it.

You don’t have to give excuses when you’re honest, and there are pleasant ways to be honest.

No, thanks.

Why?

(You have the option to explain your position.)

No, thank you.  This didn’t work out the last time, but there are alternative options.

or

No.  I just don’t like it.

When it comes down to it, a peanut butter sandwich is never complete without the jelly.  I’ve learned to eat/take in/accept everything put in front of me, for better or (sometimes) worse.  The food aspect was especially true during my time in Italy and other countries abroad.  I wanted to eat everything, because I knew it was going to be delicious; I didn’t want to offend by not trying something.

It’s easier to just refuse something; it’s easy to say no, thank youPeople will have an issue with upfront refusal, and you’ll stammer and hesitate when it comes to refusing.  Yet, after taking in everything in front of me, trying it all, I had no problem telling others I was full.

A full mind (or belly) is always a great thing; it all enlightening.

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