Want to know something gross about me?

I was once a finicky eater, willfully cutting myself off from deliciousness like sun dried tomatoes, pickled cabbage, sushi, olives, even mushrooms. I was a beast, a masochistic little beast. When I moved out of my parent's home at 18 I got better, since they weren't around to unimpress by me turning up my nose at my father's beautiful cooking. Also Ottawa, such as it was, offered better dining possibilities than the Bay.

But then I moved to Florence and met the best cook I've ever met in what has been a disproportionately lucky 27 years of meeting stellar cooks. He led me into a whole new world of delicious, delicious food. And it doesn't stop. Yesterday, Mr. Man tore down one of my last food hate-ons; oh, he should go into culinary conflict resolution!

Up until then I hated eggplant. I would only eat it if it was pickled into unrecognizability in oil with hot pepper, garlic, and a lot of salt (a piéce de resistance he laughed at me for not eating back in the day) or if it was cooked into unrecognizability at a North African or Middle Eastern restaurant (and then mostly out of a WASPy need to eat everything on the plate). And yesterday - words fail me so I'll cut and paste his:

'Here's one for you. Slice a Melanzane rather thinly. Then let it stand for a while. Then rinse and cut it in thin strips, almost like chips. Then put them into the oven with oil, garlic and the juice of one lemon. Leave them on a low heat for about an hour. When they're done sprinkle with parsley. It will change your life as it has changed mine.'

Oh eggplant. So many wasted years! Can you ever forgive me? Apparently you have, because YOU'RE SO FUCKING GOOD. So, another gross thing is needles. I had one recently. A flu shot. When it comes to sheer mortal terror, I have a hard time dissembling, and of course the nurse doing me couldn't fail to notice. Here's what happened:


An Autumn's Tale


Mlle La Spliffe enters the room. Her skin is white and clammy; her hands trembling.

MLS: Hello. (abrubtly)

Nurse: (sitting at table) Good morning!

She stumbles to the chair and sits heavily; her chin starts to tremble as she sees the vaccination accoutrements on the table. The Nurse smiles.

Nurse: Scared of needles?

MLS: Yes. (concentrates on floor)

Nurse trembles with silent laughter. MLS's teeth chatter.

Nurse: Right or left-handed.

MLS: Uhhhmmmm . . . (holds up hands and stares at them blankly for a moment) This one. (Indicates right)

Nurse: I'll need the left then.

MLS's mouth gawps open as she envisions her left arm dangling uselessly at her side after being paralysed by the flu shot. She spins in her chair to face the wall, throws her left arm to the mercy of the nurse, and stifles a scream

Nurse: Don't faint, okay?

MLS: Fine.

MLS's chin trembles even more as the Nurse swabs her arm and the sound of the safety coming off the needle is heard. She stares at the wall like it's some nice person who might intervene in the travesty that's about to go down if she just looks sad enough.

The Nurse stabs the needle into MLS's arm. IT HURTS. IT HURTS ALOT.

MLS: Oh sweet fuck!

Nurse: There you are.

THE NEEDLE IS STILL FUCKING IN MLS'S ARM. Her skin turns a completely new shade of green as she realizes she can feel the steel puncturing her rippling muscles.

Nurse: (after far too long) All done. That wasn't so bad, was it?

MLS: Yeeeeeeurgh.

Send flowers.