food

One of the saddest moments of my life, and the pivotal moment that ended my childhood innocence and started me on a life as a bitter cynic, occured the morning after one of my parent's parties.
It was early on a Sunday morning, probably in the fall of 1964 or 1965. There had been one of my parent's parties the night before. My father was an executive in a construction company, and often held parties to which he would invite clients and business friends. When my younger brother and I came downstairs to the family room in the finished basement, there was the usual collection of empty beer bottles, filled ash trays, rumpled paper napkins and such. Our parents were still asleep upstairs. We knew not to try to swig the leftover beer from the bottles (my brother had found a cigarette in one after the last party). I had always been fascinated by hard liquor, in particular by scotch. I had gotten the idea somewhere that scotch must taste like butterscotch. Perhaps I assumed that because of the evident gusto with which some of my father's friends drank the stuff. At any rate, I decided that this morning was the time to taste scotch for myself.
Taking the half-empty bottle from the ledge which served as a bar, I removed the cap and took a large drink directly from the bottle.
Of course, I immediately spit what was left in my mouth out across the room in a fine spray. The portion I had already swallowed was rapidly searing a path through-not down-my esophagus and boring a deep hole in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't breath, I couldn't talk. I could only choke and gasp, trying vainly to convey to my brother that I was in the process of dying.
When I could finally catch my breath and utter comprehensible sounds, I told my brother that "Dad must have put kerosine in this bottle!"
Well, that was it. The moment when I realized that childhood fanasies were just that-fantasies, with no basis in reality. Reality was sharp and bitter and stung and burned. Scotch did not, of course, taste at all like butterscotch. Grownups drank the stuff not because it tasted good, but for some other horrible, yet to be determined but undoubtedly evil, reason. So it would be for all my naive childhood perceptions. They would all have to be abandoned or at least re-evaluated in light of this painful new experience.

My Gran used to try to convince me that my hair would go curly if i ate the crusts on my sandwiches...i believed this for a while, but then i realised that birds ate crusts and they didnt get curley feathers! I never really wanted curley hair anyway!

My kindergarten teacher once told me that if I were to eat grapes with seeds, grapevines would grow out of my ears. Since I loved grapes I ate all of my friends grapeseeds too. Wouldn't it be neat to be able to pick grapes from your ears?

When I was a kid I used to love Burger King fish sandwichs (called the Whaler) with a vanilla milk shake. My mom (from Pakistan) told me I should never drink milk with fish or it would cause me to have huge white spots all over my body. Once we saw a lady with huge white spots and my mom told me she drank milk after eating fish. She said I could drink milk first then eat fish and I would be ok, but never the other way around. I would still drink my milk shake after the fish just waiting for the white spots to appear. They never did. But I figured if ever they did appear, i would just keep drinking milk and eating fish until my whole body turned white. Then I would look ok.

I finally realized this was a Pakistani myth. But my mom still believes it. So do some of my uncles.

My mother always told my brother and I not to eat the last tiny pointed bit of a banana. She said it was alcoholic and we would get drunk.
Although I now know this is rubbish, I won't let my kids eat the last bit either. Why? Because they will get drunk of course!!!!

My mother told me that if I ate the crusts on both ends of a loaf of bread my hair would go curly!
It was when I found out about Father Christmas I began to doubt the truth of the crusts story.....

When I was a child, my older sister told that the little round pepper's in salami were "bird's eye's". To this day,I still cannot eat salami.My mother also believed that if you drank milk with chili,it would kill you,

I used to think my mum made bread pudding with "mouldy" bread and would never eat it - until I married and made my own. Reason being, when my mum used to have mouldy bread to get rid of she would soak it in water and flush it down the toilet! When making bread pudding she used to soak the bread in milk first - I used to see the bread soaking and thought....... enough said !!

When I was little I never understood why strawberries were so sweet. One of my parents informed me that people injected them with sugar and that's why they were so sweet. It was years before I realized they had been pulling my leg.

My dad told me that if I finished a lolly and planted the stick in the garden, the next day it would grow into another lolly. So I finished it and planted the stick in the garden, and lo and behold the next day it had grown into another lolly!

I used to think that apples that were both red & green were poisoned (thanks to a too-early exposure to Snow White & The Seven Dwarves). I still can't eat apples that are both red and green.

My grandad used to eat Bourbon biscuits, and he told me that there was a monster hiding in the cream centre- so, to eat them safely, you had to split the biscuit in two to make sure the monster wasn't there. I didn't realise what an impact he had on my life--I'm 36 and I caught my 9 year old daughter opening a Bourbon biscuit. I asked why, and she said 'to make sure there isn't a monster there' God bless you grandad--you got two generations at it now!!!

When I was very young, I used to think that regular milk came from white cows and chocolate milk came from brown cows. Needless to say, I was extremely perplexed by black cows and spotted cows.

I used to believe that if u swallowed chewing gum it would wrap around your heart and squeeze you to death

When I was small, I was a gullible, disturbed child. For instance, I was afraid of eating plain apples. Whenever my mother tried to get me to eat a normal apple, I would start crying until she had it sliced, peeled, and smothered with peanut butter.

It took them a very long time for me to allay my fears. I had constantly seen my mother, father, and two of my brothers eating and apple without doing any of the above. It should be noted that my parents and two of my brothers are brunettes, while myself and my third brother, who preferred his apples sliced, peeled, and smothered with peanut butter, are blondes. I believed that, if I ate an apple any other way, then I would become a brunette, too!

i thought that the word for vegetables was bigsables