A little anecdote
{Originally told for flydovely to cheer her up. I hope it cheers everyone else as well)
Have you ever met someone that is really picky with their food? I have. A good friend of mine won't consume tomatoes, onions, foods that has too little salt, or beverages that are to hot, etcetera. I sometimes wonder how he hasn't disappeared into thin air. He is a testament of the how nutritious Mac'n'Cheese is. If prisoners of war were fed mac'n'Cheese, no one would complain about their horrible living conditions. They would look so healthy no one would believe they were prisoners.
Anyhow, before I get into my friend's story, I just wanted to give you an example of such eating habits. Funny people I think. I myself would starve on Mac'n'Cheese alone. Another person who has picky eating habits is my cousin Oscar. Is it ever difficult to feed him?
Back in Colombia, where I am from, we had a recreational farm. It is somewhat of a summer cottage except we cultivate some orange, lemon and mandarin trees and keep some cows with their calves around. There is also a lazy white horse, a fat dog, lilies, chickens, and a fighting rooster. Next to the house we dedicate to family and friends gatherings, there is a lush chilli bush; Colombian chillies are small and hot as hell. They are a spice for life and food. Just in case your mind is walking around that farm and thinking it always smells of citrus fruit and wet grass, I want to remind you cow manure can be found a few yards from the oranges. Instead of being utopia, it is a great earthly place, a place for everyone.
Family and friends come to the farm to relax and have fun, a lot of fun. My dad doesn’t know, but when I was 15 and my friends and I went to the farm for a week long stay, I had my first drunken night. It was hilarious. It is a story for another time.
The chickens are fun to watch. They are so dumb it is funny. As they walk around, their necks keep a beat that coincides with their wobbly pace. These creatures are walk as if on clouds; always thinking the world is there for them, that it should provide exactly what they wish. My cousin is kind of like a chicken, he walks through life making demands, and we love him so. Besides, he is the subject of many laughs, just like chickens trying to fly.
On a day we had just milked the cow, our cousin declared his distaste for fresh milk. “it tastes nothing like milk. It is not as refreshing. Fresh milk is disgusting,” he said with an air of disdain toward the bucket of fresh milk. My other cousins and I did not loose a heart beat; Oscar was in for a prank.
We sacrificed our hour of siesta (this noonish nap is practiced in all of Latin America) to pour the fresh milk into a box of what my cousin calls ‘real milk.’ To make the prank complete, we filed the bucket with the boxed milk. Oh, it was so perfect.
Eventually Oscar woke up. We told him we had gone for a long walk and were ready to refresh our beaks with some fresh milk. He chuckled out of pity for our poor taste. “You’ll see how much more enjoyable my milk is,” he said.
We were set. Four young people sat around a table, like Camelot knights. In our hands we held plastic cups full of our preferred beverages. Our eyes burned into each other. Three of us were expecting the fourth one to spit out the liquid he had just dank.
He drank the fresh milk, sat the cup on the table, smacked his lips, and pronounced a long ‘ahhh.’ That was delicious. My cousins and I spit out our milk unable to contain our laughter. He had liked the ‘non real milk.’ The prank had gone better than expected.
After about 15 minutes of laughter, we let Oscar into the secret. Pale, and humiliated he said, “I thought it tasted funny.”
Oh, dear Oscar, wobbly chicken you are
Have you ever met someone that is really picky with their food? I have. A good friend of mine won't consume tomatoes, onions, foods that has too little salt, or beverages that are to hot, etcetera. I sometimes wonder how he hasn't disappeared into thin air. He is a testament of the how nutritious Mac'n'Cheese is. If prisoners of war were fed mac'n'Cheese, no one would complain about their horrible living conditions. They would look so healthy no one would believe they were prisoners.
Anyhow, before I get into my friend's story, I just wanted to give you an example of such eating habits. Funny people I think. I myself would starve on Mac'n'Cheese alone. Another person who has picky eating habits is my cousin Oscar. Is it ever difficult to feed him?
Back in Colombia, where I am from, we had a recreational farm. It is somewhat of a summer cottage except we cultivate some orange, lemon and mandarin trees and keep some cows with their calves around. There is also a lazy white horse, a fat dog, lilies, chickens, and a fighting rooster. Next to the house we dedicate to family and friends gatherings, there is a lush chilli bush; Colombian chillies are small and hot as hell. They are a spice for life and food. Just in case your mind is walking around that farm and thinking it always smells of citrus fruit and wet grass, I want to remind you cow manure can be found a few yards from the oranges. Instead of being utopia, it is a great earthly place, a place for everyone.
Family and friends come to the farm to relax and have fun, a lot of fun. My dad doesn’t know, but when I was 15 and my friends and I went to the farm for a week long stay, I had my first drunken night. It was hilarious. It is a story for another time.
The chickens are fun to watch. They are so dumb it is funny. As they walk around, their necks keep a beat that coincides with their wobbly pace. These creatures are walk as if on clouds; always thinking the world is there for them, that it should provide exactly what they wish. My cousin is kind of like a chicken, he walks through life making demands, and we love him so. Besides, he is the subject of many laughs, just like chickens trying to fly.
On a day we had just milked the cow, our cousin declared his distaste for fresh milk. “it tastes nothing like milk. It is not as refreshing. Fresh milk is disgusting,” he said with an air of disdain toward the bucket of fresh milk. My other cousins and I did not loose a heart beat; Oscar was in for a prank.
We sacrificed our hour of siesta (this noonish nap is practiced in all of Latin America) to pour the fresh milk into a box of what my cousin calls ‘real milk.’ To make the prank complete, we filed the bucket with the boxed milk. Oh, it was so perfect.
Eventually Oscar woke up. We told him we had gone for a long walk and were ready to refresh our beaks with some fresh milk. He chuckled out of pity for our poor taste. “You’ll see how much more enjoyable my milk is,” he said.
We were set. Four young people sat around a table, like Camelot knights. In our hands we held plastic cups full of our preferred beverages. Our eyes burned into each other. Three of us were expecting the fourth one to spit out the liquid he had just dank.
He drank the fresh milk, sat the cup on the table, smacked his lips, and pronounced a long ‘ahhh.’ That was delicious. My cousins and I spit out our milk unable to contain our laughter. He had liked the ‘non real milk.’ The prank had gone better than expected.
After about 15 minutes of laughter, we let Oscar into the secret. Pale, and humiliated he said, “I thought it tasted funny.”
Oh, dear Oscar, wobbly chicken you are