When I was in high school, a friend and her mother took me to my first Chinese restaurant.
Being one of five kids, my family didn't eat out much, so the trip was a real treat.
Previously, the only Chinese food I'd ever eaten was La Choy chop suey from a can. So I was thrilled to try eating real Chinese food with real chopsticks and finish my meal with a real fortune cookie.
The experience was everything I'd hoped it'd be. The food was great and the atomosphere exotic. (For a fifteen year-old.) I left the restaurant with a full belly and a sense of pride. I even took my chopsticks home as a souvenir.
Then, the unimaginable happened.
That night, I was hit with an awful case of the stomach flu. For days, my stomach was in knots and I threw up so much, I broke blood vessels around my eyes.
And while it wasn't food poisoning (other family members fell ill too), I mentally associated that meal with being sick. As a result, I couldn't eat Chinese food for years.
Why am I telling you this?
Because scant hours after my last post -- a post I wrote while eating a piece of apple pie -- I came down with a nasty case of the stomach flu.
And as I lay in my bed, reeling with each twist and turn of my GI tract, all I could think of was that pie.
Ugh, that pie!
The virus spread through my entire house. Though I felt better after a few days, I spent the better part of last week caring for my sick husband and kids. It was miserable. We were miserable. And I couldn't help but associate the bug with that apple pie.
I hoped this negative association would quickly disappear, but so far it hasn't.
On Sunday, I made this caramel pear pie, hoping to turn the tide, but the plan didn't work. I had to force myself to eat a small slice.
It appears I've lost my taste for pie.
And with just 246 days left until the bake off, this is a problem.
A Big. Freaking. Problem.
Being one of five kids, my family didn't eat out much, so the trip was a real treat.
Previously, the only Chinese food I'd ever eaten was La Choy chop suey from a can. So I was thrilled to try eating real Chinese food with real chopsticks and finish my meal with a real fortune cookie.
The experience was everything I'd hoped it'd be. The food was great and the atomosphere exotic. (For a fifteen year-old.) I left the restaurant with a full belly and a sense of pride. I even took my chopsticks home as a souvenir.
Then, the unimaginable happened.
That night, I was hit with an awful case of the stomach flu. For days, my stomach was in knots and I threw up so much, I broke blood vessels around my eyes.
And while it wasn't food poisoning (other family members fell ill too), I mentally associated that meal with being sick. As a result, I couldn't eat Chinese food for years.
Why am I telling you this?
Because scant hours after my last post -- a post I wrote while eating a piece of apple pie -- I came down with a nasty case of the stomach flu.
And as I lay in my bed, reeling with each twist and turn of my GI tract, all I could think of was that pie.
Ugh, that pie!
The virus spread through my entire house. Though I felt better after a few days, I spent the better part of last week caring for my sick husband and kids. It was miserable. We were miserable. And I couldn't help but associate the bug with that apple pie.
I hoped this negative association would quickly disappear, but so far it hasn't.
On Sunday, I made this caramel pear pie, hoping to turn the tide, but the plan didn't work. I had to force myself to eat a small slice.
 |
| No love for this cutie pie. |
And with just 246 days left until the bake off, this is a problem.
A Big. Freaking. Problem.
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