A couple of weekends ago, the brother, his friendgirl and I were all lounging about on a Sunday afternoon. The discussion of mushrooms comes up. Not the trippin' kind. The eatin' kind.
I've been a lover of edible mushrooms most of my life. While the majority of society will put cream of mushroom soup in their green bean casserole or as an ingredient in another tasty recipe, I (and my cousin Heb) scarfed an entire can down at a time. Straight from the pyrex bowl, if unattended. With half a bag of crushed saltines. It kinda resembled rough plaster. Mmm, delish.
Friendgirl is newish to my life. She visits with us (well, she visits with Brother) from WAY up north in Chetek and brings mad cooking skills. On any weekend, we might have lasagna, a breakfasty dish with an unpronounceable name, or brownies. I like Friendgirl. Like a lot of people, there are things she won't eat...unfortunately, her dislikes occasionally clash with mine and my brother's likes. We are meat eaters; Friendgirl, not so much. This is new to me as most of the people in my life are meat eaters as well (and butter, mmm). It's not infrequently that I look like a callous asswipe when I make something with bacon in it, or order something for all of us and forget about the meat thing. It takes getting used to. So, she'll probably be accidentally eating pork products on occasion for some time, because I'm an idiot.
Back to the two weeks ago...Friendgirl is in conversation with Brother and I join in when the topic of mushrooms comes up. She says, "Eating mushrooms is like...well, have you ever bitten into human skin?" ......
Sure, I've nibbled on my fair share of male earlobes when I once cared about dating. I once even tried to bite through my novocained lip post-dentist. Good thing I'm not grossed out by it. I'd hate for Friendgirl to live with the stigma of swearing me off my life-long love of fungus. But now I can't stop thinking about that. Mushrooms are INDEED similar in texture to human skin. And now you, dear reader (if there are any of you out there), will not stop thinking about it either. Every time you sit down to your portobello steak, mushroom marinara, or New York Strip smothered with buttons, you (and I, of course) will think about it. My gift to you.